


Lead Us not into Temptation

by rex_who



Series: Unstoppable Force, meet your unmovable object [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baby Watson, Backstory, Christmas, F/M, Family Problems, Jim's still bad, M/M, Sherlock's still good, Siblings, Some Fluff, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 26,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rex_who/pseuds/rex_who
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Jim are now married, and they're both incredibly happy together! However, the love-sick-puppy period can't last forever, and they're dragged back into the monotony of everyday life.<br/>As new challenges come their way, they both must resist temptation in all it's forms...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boredom on the Beach

**Author's Note:**

> This one's actually dedicated! I know, it sounds cheesy. Anyway, this one's for Jess, who said some lovely things about the first work in this series (The Stranger on the Balcony), and requested a sequel. She even suggested some ideas for this one!  
> I appreciate the support! :)

The sun on the sand, waves lapping softly against the shore… this was not Sherlock’s idea of a perfect honeymoon, but Jim had insisted on one day where he could ‘soak some vitamin D into his Irish skin’.

Sherlock looked over at his new husband, who was relaxing on a sun lounger, pretending to be asleep. He had refused to wear anything but the briefest swimming suit Sherlock had ever seen, but at least he was wearing his wedding ring. _Probably hoping to blind someone with the reflecting light_ , thought Sherlock with a smile. He leaned over. “Jim,” he whispered. “Jim,” he whispered again. Jim was outright ignoring him, and trying to hide a little smile. Sherlock got off his sun lounger and hopped briefly across the burning sand to Jim’s. He sat himself on the edge, just in the right position to block out most of the sun. “Jim, if you don’t stop ignoring me, you’re going to have a Sherlock-shaped tan line.”

“And why would that be a problem?” muttered Jim. “You woke me up.”

“Liar,” said Sherlock smiling. “What do you want, Sherlock?”

“Something to do! I’m so bored. There are no people on this beach for me to deduce, no hidden caverns to explore, nothing!” Jim laughed at his partner’s distress. “Sherlock, there’s a whole ocean in front of you to explore! Go for a swim, take your goggles and camera, and bring me back some photos of interesting fish.” Sherlock sighed. “Fine. There’s nothing better to do on this stupid beach anyway.” Jim full out laughed as Sherlock hopped back across the baking sand and collected his stuff. “I’ll be back in about two minutes, when it turns out the ocean is boring too.”

Jim watched his partner half run, half walk to the ocean. He hadn’t thought this would be too difficult for the detective; he’d thought he’d just give his mind palace a good spring cleaning.

Never mind. Sherlock would be happy enough tomorrow when they went to explore some ancient Aztec city. They’d already explored Mexico City in such thorough detail Jim could accurately give directions to anyone who asked. Of course, he’d often direct them in totally the wrong direction, just for a giggle. Sherlock had no idea what he was saying; apparently he’d never seen learning languages worth his while, whereas Jim was practically fluent in French, Russian, Spanish and Gaelic. He had to admit, the Gaelic wasn’t as useful as his other languages, but still…

“I’m back,” came Sherlock’s baritone voice, cutting off his train of thought. A shower of water droplets sprinkled onto Jim’s body, and he opened his eyes to give Sherlock a death stare. “Find anything interesting?” Sherlock shook his head, sending more water droplets flying. “There were a few interesting little fish that were the same colour as the sand, but other than that, there was nothing.” Jim shifted on his sun lounger, making space for Sherlock to sit down next to him. “Well, I’m sure there’ll be plenty to look at in the city tomorrow.”

“There’d better be,” replied Sherlock grumpily.


	2. A Rose by any other name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim touch down, refreshed and ready. John and Mary have some exciting news...

They got back from their honeymoon refreshed, tanned, and ready to restart regular life. Almost as soon as the plane touched down in Gatwick airport, Jim’s phone started pinging with all his unread texts and emails. “I thought you told them you were going away?” said Sherlock, eyebrow raised. “I did,” muttered Jim. “Clearly, some people cannot follow simple orders.”

“Who’s getting mauled by lions today?” joked Sherlock. “Hmm… lions. Now there’s an interesting idea…” mused James. Sherlock inwardly kicked himself, and apologised to the unfortunate soul who was going to be mauled by lions.

“So, Sherlock, how long do you think it’ll take your brother to be round now we’re back?” Sherlock laughed. “I’m not sure he’ll ever be back. Last time he came, I was broken and there was a dead body on the floor.”

“So, a normal day at 221B then?” they laughed, but Sherlock’s hand instinctively went to his jaw. That had taken the longest to heal after his brush with Xavier. They’d waited until the rest of his casts and braces were off before getting married, but Sherlock had still had some wiring around his jaw. Jim noticed the hand, and took it in his own. “Sherlock…” Sherlock shook himself. “I’m fine.” He smiled. “Go on. Go and get your web back into shape. I’ll text John, see if he wants to catch up.” Jim kissed him lightly. “Have fun, darling.” He flopped down on the sofa, and Sherlock sank down in his chair.

_Back from Mexico. SH_

The reply was almost instant.

_Hey! Was wondering when you’d be back! Have some big news, if you want to meet up at some point, we can have a catch up. JW_

“I think Mary’s had her baby,” said Sherlock. Jim sat up. “What makes you say that?”

“John says he’s got big news.” Jim nodded. “I thought her due date was a few weeks yet?” Sherlock shrugged. “Must be premature. Want to come with me to see it?” Jim nodded. “Of course.”

_Sounds great. St James’ coffee house, 2pm. I’m bringing Jim. SH_

_See you there. JW_

They arrived at the coffee house at exactly two. Jim and Sherlock ordered their coffee, and made themselves comfortable at a table in the corner. John and Mary came in a couple of minutes later, and Sherlock pretended to be surprised when they left a pushchair in the corner, bringing a small bundle over to the table. “Sherlock, Jim, this is Rose Alice Watson,” said John, practically bursting with pride. Sherlock smiled as Jim put out his finger, only to have it grabbed by Rose. “Aww, she likes you!” said Mary, grinning. “Actually, babies have a grabbing reflex, and they don’t actually know how to let go,” said Sherlock, unable to stop himself. “Oh, Sherlock, it’s good to know marriage hasn’t changed you,” giggled Mary.

“Give me time,” said Jim, still playing with Rose. “So, you know, if you and John want to go out some time, Sherlock and I would be more than happy to babysit.”

“We would?” asked Sherlock. “Yes, we would,” confirmed Jim.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim cuddle on the sofa, and Sherlock asks the one question that's been bugging him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's mostly fluff, fluffier than candy floss (or cotton candy, depending on where you're from, I guess)

“I have to say, you surprise me still,” said Sherlock, unwrapping his scarf. The coffee break had been cut short when Rose had started crying and wouldn’t stop. “I didn’t know you liked babies.” Jim shrugged. “I guess I just like the idea of another me running around,” he said, helping Sherlock get his coat. “I’m not helpless, Jim.”   
“I know, but I do love undressing you.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.   
They sank on the sofa together, Sherlock’s head in Jim’s lap. They’d spent a lot of time like this while Sherlock was healing, and they’d since decided it was one of the most comfortable positions to relax in. “Jim?”  
“Sherly?”  
“Do you ever regret it? Marrying me?” Jim’s chocolate eyes locked on Sherlock’s icy ones. “Sherlock, we’ve been married a grand total of a month, and you’re asking me if I regret it?” Sherlock swallowed. “Well, if you’d married a woman, you could have kids, and a proper family.” Jim laughed. “Sherlock, I might like little Rose, but can you imagine me having kids of my own? My parents weren’t exactly role models to follow, and anyway, bringing a child into this life isn’t exactly recommendable.”  
Sherlock’s brow creased as Jim brought up his parents. He never talked about them, and he hadn’t invited them to their wedding. Sherlock never asked, because sometimes it was better not to. “Great. Now you want to know about my parents.” Jim ran his hand through his hair, something Sherlock knew he only did when stressed. He started panicking. “No, it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anything.” Jim smiled, just a quick flash. “Thanks, Sherly. I'm sure I will tell you one day, but it’s quite some story.”  
“Speaking of parents, mine want to have us over for Christmas,” said Sherlock, trying to subtly change the topic. Jim grinned. “I like your parents. They seem to have their heads screwed on straight.”  
“High praise from the most wanted criminal in England,” teased Sherlock. “Also, they made this piece of art,” carried on Jim. Sherlock flushed, as he always did when Jim made cheesy comments. “Please bear in mind that presents will be opened in front of everybody,” said Sherlock, the thought of him opening some form of sex toy in front of his parents flashing through his mind. Jim grinned. “I’ll keep it PG. For you.”


	4. Christmas Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though they're married, the two consultants have NO IDEA what to get each other for Christmas!

Christmas was two weeks away, and Sherlock had no idea what to get Jim. He’d even texted Moran for ideas.

_Moran, I need your help. SH_

_What? How did you get my number?_

_Not important. I need your help. I have no idea what to get Jim for Christmas. SH_

_For Christ’s sake! You’re married to the man, you know him better than me!_

Obviously, Moran would be no help whatsoever. What does Jim like? His mind palace threw a whole list of unhelpful things at him. _Chemistry? You can’t get someone chemistry for Christmas! Murder? You can’t wrap up a corpse. Mummy would not approve of a dead body in the living room._ Sherlock was stuck with a bright idea, and even better, he wouldn’t even have to leave his flat! He pulled his laptop from its perch on top of a pile of paper on the desk. Half an hour later, Jim’s present was ordered. The only problem now was how to hide it from Jim in the weeks leading up to Christmas…

*****

Jim had a similar problem to Sherlock; however instead of texting Moran, he went to John and Mary’s house. “Jim! So nice to see you!” said Mary as she opened the door. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well, thank you Mary. How’s little Rose doing?”

“She’s sleeping more at night now, which is something. She loves the little lion you got her.” Jim grinned. “Everybody loves lions. Anyway, I came to ask for your help. Is John around?” Mary shook her head. “John’s at the surgery today. You know how it is over winter; all those pathetic wimps with colds rushing to see the doctor.” Jim nodded, although having never visited a GP in his life, he had no idea how it was. “I wondered if you had any ideas on what to get Sherlock for Christmas.”

“Edible underwear?” they both laughed. “I’d love to, but the presents are being opened in front of Sherlock’s parents. I doubt they’d approve of their baby wearing edible underwear, or the idea of me eating it off him.” Mary held her hand up. “I get the picture. Well, what does he like to do?”

“Solve crimes, but he’s said strictly no murders are to be committed on his behalf. He likes to play that goddamn violin at two in the morning…” he trailed off, having had a brilliant idea. “Mary, you’re a genius. Thank you!” Mary watched Jim run out of the door. She never would understand the consulting husbands.


	5. The Magic of Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas day soon rolls around, and Sherlock and Jim head off to visit Sherlock's parents. Presents are given out, dinner is eaten, then Sherlock and Jim return home for a little more gift giving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the SMUT ;) eventually...

“Sherlock! Jim! So lovely to see you again!” Sherlock’s mother had started before they were even over the threshold. She ran over and hugged them both. “Mycroft and Greg are already inside; we’ve been waiting for you two to start!”  
“Sorry we’re late. The roads are icy, and the taxi driver insisted on driving infuriatingly slowly so we wouldn’t crash.” Sherlock wheeled the suitcase they’d brought for ease of transport for the presents inside carefully, Jim’s present tucked carefully under his arm.   
Mycroft and Greg were sat on the sofa, Sherlock’s dad in his armchair, leaving one armchair which was Sherlock’s mothers, and one free armchair. Jim sank down while Sherlock deposited the presents by the tree, and then pushed Jim across so that they both fitted snugly into the chair. Sherlock’s mother bustled after them, offering them drinks and snacks, which they politely refused. “I’m saving room for Christmas lunch, Mrs Holmes. Sherlock tells me you’re an excellent cook,” said Jim, full charm mode activated.  
Sherlock had not in actual fact said anything of the sort, but Mrs Holmes grinned anyway. “Oh, bless your soul, dear. You mustn’t call me Mrs Holmes, you’re my son now. Call me mummy, like Sherlock and Mycroft do.” Jim smiled, for real. He liked Sherlock’s mother a lot.  
“Let’s get started, shall we?” input Sherlock’s father. There were a fair few presents, but finally Jim’s present to Sherlock was pulled off the pile. “Sherlock, dear, this one’s for you. It’s from Jim.” Sherlock took the present from his mother, trying to guess what it was before he opened it. It was heavy, and fairly rigid, but had some pliancy. The wrapping paper was ripped off, and Sherlock found himself holding several music books. He flipped through, amazed. There were studies by almost all his favourite composers; Stravinsky, Mozart, Vivaldi, Schoenberg…   
“I know how much you love playing that goddamn violin at stupid hours in the morning, so I got you things to play,” said Jim, blushing slightly. Sherlock gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and Mycroft made a gagging noise, eliciting a glare from his mother. “That’s a lovely idea, Jim!” she said. “I must confess, as brilliant a player you are, Sherlock dear, I don’t miss being kept awake at night.”  
Sherlock’s present to Jim was the last present to be opened. Sherlock had to help him reach the top of it, it was so tall. When Jim tore away the rest of the paper, he found himself face to face with a cardboard box. “Erm… Sherlock?” Sherlock went to the kitchen and brought back a knife to open the box with. Jim ran the knife from the top to the bottom of the box, and pulled the two halves apart like it was a wardrobe.   
A tall surfboard stood inside. “I knew you could surf, as you demonstrated on our honeymoon, so I got you your own board.” It was a nice board. White, with red detailing; minimalist but stylish. “I love it,” whispered Jim. “How are we going to get it home?”  
Sherlock and Jim got back late. They threw their coats in front of the fire, and Jim searched for a place to put his board. “You know, we’ll have to get a cottage in Cornwall. Just a holiday cottage, so that we can go down and I can actually use this.” Sherlock made a non-committal noise. Jim reappeared from John’s old room, where he’d decided to put his new board. “You know, Sherly, I didn’t get to give you a full present.”  
“And why might that be?” asked Sherlock, who had a very good idea of why that might have been. “Because I promised you I’d keep it PG,” replied Jim, naughty glint in his eye. Sherlock grinned as Jim straddled him. “And I didn’t think your parents would appreciate us having sex in the middle of the queen’s speech.”  
“That would make things a little more interesting,” mused Sherlock before Jim lifted his chin up.   
They both sank into a kiss, closed eyes, tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Jim ran his hands up Sherlock’s sides, earning a shiver. He slipped his hands underneath Sherlock’s shirt, and broke the kiss whilst pulling it off. He started planting little kisses on the detective’s neck. “You know,” said Sherlock, slightly breathless, “I won’t break if you handle me a little more.” Jim grinned. “I know.” He sunk his teeth into Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock moaned. He grabbed at Jim’s shirt, trying to gain enough friction on the fabric to pull it off. “I don’t think so,” said Jim, pulling away from Sherlock’s neck. “Westwood.” He undid his own shirt, carefully placing it on the table where it wouldn’t be soiled. “Pretentious twat,” replied Sherlock. Jim took Sherlock’s nipple in his mouth, biting with his sharp teeth. Sherlock groaned with pain, closing his eyes. Jim had a brilliant idea. “Stay there,” he commanded, running over to Sherlock’s coat, feeling down the sleeve… there! He pulled out Sherlock’s scarf. He ran back over to a curious Sherlock. “Let’s take away one sense, so the others work more.” He wrapped the scarf around Sherlock’s eyes, knotting it tightly.   
Sherlock was taken aback at Jim’s proposal, but didn’t object as the scarf was wrapped around his eyes, just a little too tight. His breathing rate increased now that he had no idea what was going on. A warm mouth made contact with his, and he relaxed his jaw to let in Jim’s tongue. At the same time, he felt cold hands running up and down his sides, exploring every inch of his abdomen.  
Each time, the hands got closer and closer to his waistband, until they rested on his hips. Sherlock nodded desperately, knowing Jim was asking non-verbal permission. He gasped as the cold air hit him, and the criminal took his opportunity to kiss his open mouth, taking hold of his bottom lip with his ridiculously sharp teeth, breaking skin and sending Sherlock’s brain to heaven.   
Sherlock felt Jim drag his teeth downwards, down his throat and chest, down his abdomen, right down to his fully erect cock. He whimpered as he drew his tongue up the side, and blew cold air across the tip. The blue of his scarf across his vision was quickly turning red with pleasure. He cried out as Jim deep throated him. “Oh, God,” he cried, for lack of anything better to say. Sherlock heard the movement of material, and the weight on the sofa shifted. He was pulled up by the wrists, and forced into a sitting position. “Open,” came Jim’s voice. Sherlock cautiously did as he was told. Something warm was slipped into his mouth, and by using his tongue to explore, he deduced that it was, in fact, Jim’s cock. “Oh, God, Sherlock, keep using your tongue!” came Jim’s yell. Sherlock grinned, and worked his tongue furiously. He heard small moans coming from his partner, and giggled to himself. He felt fingers curl in his hair, and his head was forced backwards, mouth now empty. “Stay there.”  
Sherlock counted thirty seconds in his head before Jim was back again. “Hold out your hand,” he instructed. Sherlock heard a bottle being opened, and a cool semi-liquid pooled in the palm of his hand. Jim dipped his fingers in and pushed Sherlock down with the other hand. “Spread your legs,” he ordered. Sherlock did so, bracing for the inevitable cold sensation. He felt James’ mouth ghost across his. “Relax, Sherlock.” He pressed his mouth on Sherlock’s at the same time as he pushed the first finger in. Sherlock moaned into Jim’s mouth. Jim worked his tongue and added a second finger. Sherlock wriggled underneath his partner’s weight, the sensation of pain uncomfortable but not entirely unpleasant. Jim wriggled and flexed his fingers, driving Sherlock crazy. He arched his back, pressing himself into Jim. “Now, I want you to use the remainder of the lube you have in your hand to lube me up.” Sherlock sat up reaching for Jim’s cock. Jim grabbed his wrist and guided his hand in the right direction. Jim sighed above him as Sherlock massaged the gel all over him. “Mmm… Let’s get started, shall we?” he pushed Sherlock back on the sofa so he was lying on his back.   
Sherlock braced again. “Relax, Holmes.” Sherlock felt hot breathing on his neck, and… oh. Oh. OH! He groaned out loud as he felt Jim enter him. “F-fuck…”   
Jim smiled as he saw the detective, sweaty and unravelled underneath him. He pushed slowly in and was unable to supress a moan as Sherlock’s tight heat engulfed him. “Oh, God…” he moved as slowly as he could until Sherlock growled at him. “Faster!” James obliged, picking up the pace, moving himself in and out, hammering at Sherlock’s prostate. “J-Jim, I’m going to… argh.. I’m going to c-come…” Jim nodded, before remembering Sherlock couldn’t see him. “Do it,” he hissed, through clenched teeth.   
Sherlock felt the sensation building in all his muscles, and he came full force, feeling the warm liquid coating him, and Jim pulled out just in time to have his come join Sherlock’s. He rolled onto the sofa next to Sherlock, still panting. “How did you like my little idea?” he asked. “It was great, but I kind of want to see your face again soon.” Jim untied the scarf from around Sherlock’s eyes. “Sorry, I forgot you had it on.”  
The first thing Sherlock saw when Jim pulled off the scarf/blindfold was his partner’s face, sweaty but smiling, and Sherlock didn’t think he’d ever loved anyone more than he loved Jim in that moment. A wave of sentimentality overcame him, and he snuggled into Jim. “I love you,” he said, testing the words out, even though he’d said them a hundred times before.   
“I love you too.”


	6. Back to normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim sink back into some form of normalcy, and Sherlock is called away to a crime scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH! I'm very sorry to report that school has started again, and now A-levels are in full swing, which means less regular updates for you folks.   
> Believe me, it's not much fun for me either.

Sherlock woke up the next morning to his phone ringing, full blast. “Answer your fucking phone, asshole,” said Jim, usual eloquence slipping a little in annoyance at being woken up. Sherlock did as he was told. “Hello?”  
“Sherlock! It’s me, Greg.”  
“I don’t know anyone called Greg,” said Sherlock. “Don’t be stupid, it’s me, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade from Scotland Yard. I need your help on scene, please.”  
“What time is it?”  
“What?” Lestrade sounded confused. “It’s ten to nine. Are you coming, or do I have to send a car?”  
“Send a car,” said Sherlock before hanging up. He rolled over to face Jim. “I have to get up. Lestrade’s sending a car to bring me to a crime scene.”   
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, groaning at the cold and the way all his muscles screamed at him. “Can you people not have one day where you’re not killing each other?” he moaned. Jim laughed. “Yeah, but then you’d get bored.” Sherlock had to admit that was true.   
The police car arrived, and Sherlock kept it waiting for ten minutes while he washed dressed, and even ate breakfast. He wouldn’t normally; he just wanted to piss Lestrade off because he had woken him up.  
When he eventually arrived on scene, the first thing he saw was an arm in a tree, with a group of forensics stood below it, trying to get a decent photograph. He ducked under the police tape, and almost stood on a foot. Not one belonging to an officer; just a lonely severed foot, sat on its own in a puddle.   
Sherlock felt like laughing as he approached the centre of the crime scene and saw a head pitted on a spike on a railing, and an abdomen sliced open down the middle. Now this is more like it! He approached the sort of body, trying to hide his glee. “Sorry Sherlock,” said Lestrade. “I wouldn’t call so early, but as you can see, this one’s… unique.” He stood on tiptoe to mutter in Sherlock’s ear. “Please try not to look too much like a kid in a sweet shop,” he begged. Sherlock simply rolled his eyes.  
Latex gloves on, Sherlock crouched down next to the body. Clearly, this wasn’t a ‘crime of passion’, or whatever Lestrade called them. This had been planned. Sherlock dug his hands into the opening in the body, feeling around for anything out of place. Andersen started gagging behind him, and Sherlock had to resist the temptation to pull out the lungs and pop them in his face; honestly, how could he be a forensic and still be squeamish…  
“The heart’s gone,” he said. “Look, put your hands in there, and feel.” Lestrade looked horrified at the thought of putting his hands anywhere near that thing. Sherlock sighed and put his back in, and pulled out a fake heart. “It’s a very good copy, but when you put your finger down the aorta of a normal heart, it’s stopped by the semilunar valve. If you put your finger down there- someone stop squirming and do it- your finger goes all the way down. Also, the walls of the left ventricle should be significantly thicker than those of the right ventricle, and they’re not.”  
Sherlock stood up and collected an evidence bag, depositing the ‘heart’ in it as he went to examine the head on a spike. “Has the victim been identified?”  
“We’ve identified her as Daisy Monroe. She’s a florist- single, no kids, only living family member is a sister that lives up in Yorkshire somewhere.”  
“Have you checked her recent romantic history? Any ex-boyfriends of dubious sanity?”  
“Like yours?” asked Donovan. She’d only just returned to the force after some ‘necessary surgery’, which Sherlock knew to be an abortion. He couldn’t say he’d missed her. “Yes, Donovan, except I don’t have a boyfriend; I have a husband. Anyway, has it been checked?”” Lestrade nodded. “You think we’d call you if it were that simple?”  
When Sherlock got home, Jim couldn’t help but notice something different about him. He didn’t have the usual glow about him that he usually had after solving crimes, and it wasn’t the irritated sulk that came with an unsolvable case.  
“Sherlock? What’s wrong?” Sherlock flopped down in his chair. “Sherly?”  
“It’s that stupid Donovan woman. She just brings out the worst in me, you know? I was so happy when she was off, but now she’s back and bitchier than ever.” Jim put his arms around the detective. “I think you need some time away from all of that. I just so happen to have recently acquired a little cottage in Cornwall. We’ll go there, I’ll teach you to surf , and we’ll have a break away from all these idiots,” he said, rubbing little circles on Sherlock’s shoulders. “Would you like that?” Sherlock nodded. “Excellent!” said Jim, jumping up. “I’ll pack our bags; we leave tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer* Abortion is a very sensitive topic, which is why I tried not to give an opinion about it. After all, this is about Sherlock and Jim, not Donovan's life choices. Make of it what you will, but I refuse to start any arguments by stating an opinion.


	7. Life flashes before your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sherlock take a trip down to Cornwall; however it is far from the relaxing stay they had in mind...

Cornwall was everything London wasn’t; the air was clean, the streets weren’t crowded, and there was a beach with waves that were perfect for teaching Sherlock how to surf.  
“Come on, Sherlock!” cried Jim in desperation. “It’s not that hard, it’s just a matter of balancing yourself!”   
“You’re not over six foot tall,” grumbled Sherlock. “And plus, I don’t look as hot as you when I surf.” Jim rolled his eyes. “Right; you’re surfing… Sure thing, Sherly.”  
A wave caught him by surprise, sending him crashing onto the shore and almost dragging him back. Sherlock swam to the shore and sat beside him, laughing. “Pro surfer, you are!” he laughed, before realising… Jim wasn’t breathing.  
“Jim? Jim?” Sherlock put his face directly above his husband’s. “Jim, can you hear me?” There was no response. Sherlock brought his hands down on his chest, performing chest compressions. “Come on, Jim, breathe!” He pinched Jim’s nose and tilted his head back, puffing air into his lungs.   
Just as Sherlock was starting to give up hope, Jim started coughing and spluttering, and he threw up on the sand beside him. After he’d finished, Sherlock gave him a big hug. “Don’t ever, ever do that again, okay?”  
After running to their cottage (which was a matter of metres away) and fetching some brandy, Sherlock sat on the beach with Jim until they felt up to moving.  
Halfway back to the cottage, a teenage girl crossed the road in front of them, and Jim stopped dead. “Sherly, dear, how much brandy did you give me?”  
“No more than a few mouthfuls,” replied Sherlock, confused. “What’s wrong?” The girl was walking towards them, and Jim could only stare. Sherlock glanced back and forth between the two people, trying to form a link and… oh.  
“James? Is that you?” asked the girl. “It is you! I’ve been looking all over the place for you, and Mam has too.” Jim was paler than the moon. Sherlock tried to subtly take his hand, a gesture that was not missed by the woman. “Oh, and look at that, you’ve caught yourself a boyfriend, and a fine looking gentleman he looks too!” she extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Jessica, James’ half-sister.”  
“Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock shook her hand limply. “Oh, where’ve I heard that before…? Never mind. James, where’ve you been for all these years?” Jim finally found his voice. “Where’ve I been? More like where I haven’t been. I’ve been all over the place, committing crimes of every magnitude, avoiding you, and that whore you call a mother, and your father too.” Jessica simply gaped. “James, what’s happened to you?”  
Jim felt like killing someone. “What’s happened to me? Oh, Jessie, don’t tell me they told you I went to university, like an ordinary person!”  
“You did,” said Jessica, pouting slightly. “You went and you studied French and Criminology, and then some half-with stole your name and started committing all these awful crimes.” Jim laughed. “Is that what the bitch told you?”  
“Stop calling her names! You might not have gotten on very well, but she’s still your mother, and mine, and I won’t have you saying things like that!” shouted Jessica. “Jessie, stop being so naïve, and get out while you still can,” said Jim, tone serious. “Oh, stop being so melodramatic, James. I don’t know why you and Mam fought so much, but she still loves you. We all do. Just call, okay?” Jim shook his head, and Sherlock thought he was about to cry.   
“Well, it was lovely meeting you, Jessica, but James and I have somewhere to be, so if you’ll excuse us…” Sherlock lead his husband away by the arm, leaving Jessica stood in the street, staring aftr them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, next chapter we juuuuust might get to see deeper into Jim's rich backstory...


	8. Memories that corrode the soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim tells Sherlock his story. WARNING!!!!! This chapter could be a trigger for some people. It involves non-graphic descriptions of abuse. It is in not essential to the story, and you don't have to read it. A summary will be written in the notes at the bottom of the chapter for those of you who don't want to read this chapter.

Almost as soon as the front door was closed, Jim started crying. It was awful, seeing him so shaken; the man who could kill someone and not bat an eye, breaking down in the living room of a cottage in Cornwall. Sherlock fussed over him, changing him out of his wetsuit and putting him in warm pyjamas, brewing the kettle and making tea, and finally pulling him down onto the sofa for a cuddle.  
No words were said. Jim simply put his face into Sherlock’s shirt and cried. Sherlock made soft noises and stroked Jim’s hair. “Oh, Sherlock,” sniffled Jim eventually. “Just when it was all going to plan, she ruined it. Sisters are the worst; you love them to pieces but you have to let them go. I feel awful for being so mean to her, but I’d feel even worse if I didn’t warn her…” he burst into a fresh onslaught of tears, soaking through Sherlock’s shirt.  
Sherlock absorbed the information quietly. Jim had never mentioned anything about a sister, so Sherlock had presumed he either didn’t have one or he didn’t care about her.  
Well, you don’t cry over people you don’t care about.  
“She’s so naïve, only seventeen… they’ll ruin her, I know they will, they’ll ruin her like they ruined me,” sobbed Jim. “I just can’t believe it hasn’t started already.” He gripped onto Sherlock even harder, and gradually cried himself out.  
The silence was worse than the tears. Jim looked so hollow, like his life had lost all purpose. His eyes had lost their sparkle, and looked too big for his face. Sherlock knew that this would be when Jim would be most vulnerable, and yet, he still couldn’t think of anything better to do than stroke his hair like he was an obedient dog. “She doesn’t believe me,” whispered Jim. “What?”  
“She doesn’t believe me. I knew she wouldn’t. I knew no one would. That’s why I never said anything. My mother was sweet little Nina, who was a victim of domestic abuse, but found her salvation in the form of Terence, my new step-dad.” Sherlock listened intently. “The whole village knew Nina and Terence, because of all the charity work they did; serving soup to the homeless, bake sales, fun runs, you name it, and they did it for charity.  
“Everybody knew me, too. They whispered things about me behind my back. ‘Poor lamb,’ they’d say. ‘Can’t have been easy for him, having a father like that, he’s so lucky he’s got Terence to look after him now’. They soon started whispering different things about me, after I got kicked out of school and stopped giving a fuck. ‘That boy’s been trouble from the start,’ they’d say. ‘Mark my word, he’ll have done time by the time he’s thirty.’.” Jim’s eyes darkened as he told his tale, as if he could actually see the people in front of him.  
“What they didn’t know was whilst Terence and Nina did all sorts to help other people’s kids, they made their own child’s life a living hell. It started with beatings, if I didn’t get the grades. That was when I was about eleven, and starting secondary school. Then it escalated, until one day, I was in my room, getting ready to go to badminton. I was just in my underpants, examining the bruises from yesterday’s beatings, trying to think up believable cover stories. Terence burst in without knocking, having received a phone call from one of my teachers about a detention I’d earned for setting fire to Tammy Gilbert’s book in science class.  
“I don’t know whether he was drunk, or high, or anything, but he charged into my room, demanding that I should lie across his knee for punishment. He dragged me over, and laid me across his knee, and before I could say anything, he’d taken my underwear off. He kept hitting me, over and over, with his hand over my mouth to muffle the screams. Before I knew it, he had his hand inside me, then his…” Jim trembled with fear, reliving the horror in his mind. “I was thirteen years old. When I told my mother she didn’t believe me, and she hit me for telling such awful lies about Terence. The next time it happened, she walked in. she didn’t say anything; just closed the door and walked out. I was stupid enough to think she was going to call the police, but she didn’t. She kept beating me, and Terence kept raping me, and by the time I was fifteen the school had kicked me out, and I kept moving between schools until I was eighteen, then I moved out.”  
Sherlock was at a loss for words. He knew the usual ‘there, there,’ or ‘I’m sorry’ weren’t going to cut it, so instead, he elected to say nothing, simply wrapping his arms around the terrified criminal in hope of being an anchor.  
“Jessie was too young to remember all this. She was barely at the walking stage when I was kicked out of school. That’s why she doesn’t remember all the screaming, and our mother told her that I was always getting into fights at school, and that was where the bruises came from. I never wrote to her after I left, thinking it would be better for her to think her big brother had simply forgotten about her. I never dreamed I’d see any of them again. If anything, I think I would have preferred to have seen Terence; that way I could have killed him on the spot.”  
Sherlock thought back to the way Jim had been so ready to call Sherlock’s mother ‘mummy’, and the way he treated both the Holmes’ parents as if they were his own. Sherlock had thought it was all an act to win them over, but now he knew that he really wanted them to be his parents. He really wanted mummy Holmes to fuss over him, and daddy Holmes to talk sports with him like he couldn’t with Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock felt like crying himself when he thought of all the emotional trauma Jim had been through to make him the man he was today.  
“Am I the first person you’ve told?” asked Sherlock gently. Jim shook his head. “No. I told a teacher at one of my schools once, but he simply called Terence, and well…” Sherlock nodded. “So Jessica doesn’t actually know what happened to you?” Jim shook his head again. “No, and I doubt she ever will. I’ve hacked into her school records; she gets nearly full marks on every test she sits, she runs marathons, she does dance competitions, and she excels in everything. She’ll never be a disappointment like me.”  
“Now you listen to me, Jim. None of this was your fault. Absolutely none of it. You must not blame yourself for anything that has happened to you, okay? Promise me you’ll never do it again.” Jim looked up at Sherlock, big brown eyes daring to show the slightest glimmer of hope. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim's mother and father abused him as a child, and he's worried the same might happen to his sister Jessie.


	9. Repetition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim sets on a healing curve, and they're all set to return to London when a surprise lands on the doorstep.

Sherlock decided to stay in Cornwall for a little while longer, to give Jim a little healing time before they returned to the hustle bustle of London. Sherlock definitely sensed a change in Jim; at first he was too meek, and looked like he was on the verge of tears all the time, but as time passed, he grew lighter, like a weight had been lifted from his chest. He laughed more, and was even willing to try again to teach Sherlock to surf.  
All was going well until their last night in their cottage. They were curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine each, just relaxing and enjoying each other’s company, when a knock on the door interrupted them. Sherlock sighed heavily as he got up to answer it. He opened the door a crack to see who it was. “Sherlock?” came a timid Irish voice. “Jessica?” Sherlock saw Jim’s head snap up at the sound of his sister’s name. Sherlock opened the door fully and let her in. “Jessica, is everything alright?” he saw the tear in the back of her top, and the way her mascara had run down her face, and the way her eyes were red and puffy. “What’s the matter, Jessica?” Jim got off the sofa and came to her, putting his arm round her shoulders in a brotherly way. “I-I had to come here. I’m sorry. I saw you two come in here the other day. I’ll leave if it’s inconvenient.” Jim grabbed her as she went to leave, and Sherlock noted the way she flinched from his touch. All of a sudden, he knew exactly what had happened. “Jessica, you sit down on the sofa. I’ll make you some coffee with a little bit of brandy in it for the shock.”  
“Shock? What shock?” Jessica jumped, terrified that he knew just from looking at her (which, of course, he did). “I know what’s happened, Jessica. That’s what I do for a living; I read people,” said Sherlock, gently. Jessica looked like she was going to cry. Jim looked like he wanted to cry too, knowing what Sherlock had deduced.   
Sherlock hurried into the kitchen, preparing hot coffee for the poor girl sat in the living room. He came through with a steaming mug as Jessica was telling Jim what had happened. “I got my result back from a French test, and I’d failed. It wasn’t anything big, but I knew Mam would flip. So I tried hiding it, but them Terence found it. He called Mam into the room to show her, and then she left so he could ‘punish me’. I thought he was going to say clean out the chicken coop or something, but then he came towards me, and tried to grab at me… he never got as far as taking anything off, but he was touching me, and I knew it wasn’t right, so I ran to the first place I thought of.” Sherlock handed her the mug. “Jessie, that’s awful…” said Jim, arm still around her shoulder. “You even told me to get out of there, and I didn’t listen!” wailed Jessica. Jim made comforting noises as Sherlock pulled up the foot rest in front of her, perching on the edge. “Now, Jessica, we can fix this. If you want to, and only if you want to, you can come with us back to London, and talk to one of our friends, who is a police officer.” Jim flashed him a warning look. Jessica shook her head. “Don’t give him that look, James. It’s a good idea. It’ll be hard to talk about it, but maybe if I come forwards, then maybe other girls like me will too, and other boys.”  
“The only problem is, you wouldn’t be able to live with us,” said Sherlock. “However, I can ring up some very good friends of mine, called John and Mary. They have a proper house with enough room for you, and they’ve just had a baby girl.” Jessica nodded “Oh, and John used to be in the army,” input Jim. “He’s killed people you know,” joked Sherlock. “But only on bad days,” finished Jim. Jessica laughed weakly as Sherlock stood up.  
“I’m going to call John now, and arrange something for you.” He went through to the other room, dialled John’s number, and after a brief explanation of what had happened, John was more than happy to help Jessica out. “It’s just for a few weeks, max,” said Sherlock.  
“Tell you what, put me on the phone with her now,” said John. Sherlock called Jessica into the room. “It’s John. He’d like to speak to you.”  
Sherlock stayed in the room while she was on the phone, and after a few minutes, a smile stretched across Jessica’s face. “That would be brilliant, thank you, sir- oh, thank you, John.” She hung up the phone. “He’s offered to let me live with him until I finish school,” she said, smiling properly for the first time since she walked through the door. “See, what did we say!” smiled Sherlock. “For now, however, I suggest you get some sleep. It’s getting late. You take the spare room; don’t worry, it hasn’t been slept in.” Jessica said goodnight and ran off upstairs. Sherlock and Jim went to bed a little while later, not having the energy for a late night, and after all, tomorrow was going to be a very big day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Jessica's made a very brave choice, don't you? Remember, if anything is happening at home that shouldn't be; tell someone. It's never easy, but after you tell someone, life will only get better.


	10. Fuck the police

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim goes with Jessica to the police station, and ends up telling Lestrade about his own experiences. Meanwhile, Sherlock tries his very best to make Jim happy.

Jim felt nervous. He hadn’t been inside a police station since he was fifteen years old, and he felt like he was on enemy turf. Sherlock hadn’t come, deciding that it was too personal for him to get involved. Jim had thought about saying how much he actually wanted Sherlock there, to hold his hand and make fun of the officers and make everything feel okay.

Jessica was in the next room, talking with a concerned looking Lestrade. Jim saw her point at him through the window, and all the blood drained from his face. _No!_  he willed her silently. _Don’t bring me into this. They’ll drag me down to a court to testify, and I can’t do that!_

Lestrade was leaving his office, and Jim scanned desperately for escape routes, but it was too late. “Jim? Could you come in here please?” Jim stood up, sweating. He followed him into the room, and sat down on the chair next to his sister, looking at the floor. “Jim, Jessica tells me you were severely abused in your teens. Is this true?”

“No,” answered Jim, still looking at the floor. “I was only eleven when they started hitting me, physically abusing me. The first time I was sexually abused, I was thirteen.” Lestrade nodded. “Tell me, was this a single occurrence of sexual abuse, or a recurring thing?” Jim wished Sherlock were here. “A recurring thing until I left home at eighteen.” Lestrade nodded, face grave. “Thank you, Jim. I’ll let you go for today, but you will have to issue official statements, come to court to testify against your parents. Jessica, who are you staying with?”

“John and Mary Watson.” Lestrade nodded. “They’ll take good care of you. Thank you both, and I’ll call if there’s anything we need.”

Jim left Scotland Yard close to tears. He accompanied his sister to John’s, and then high-tailed it home to Sherlock.

*****

It was getting late. Sherlock glanced at the clock; five to six. He’d decided not to go with Jim to Scotland Yard, instead electing to stay home and surprise Jim. He’d tidied the flat, top to bottom, vacuumed, dusted, and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. A whim had struck him, and half an hour ago he’d finished baking a cake. It wasn’t bad looking, but now it was time to ice it. Sherlock whipped up a bowl of royal icing, and carefully coated the cake in it, making sure the surface was smoother than glass. Then, he got one of the icing pens he’d picked up in Tesco and carefully started to write on the cake.

The door slammed. “Sherlock, I’m back!”

“I’m in the kitchen!” Sherlock was still mid-way through writing his message on the cake when Jim wrapped his arms around his middle, almost messing up the writing. “The flat looks great, by the way. I can’t believe you were bored enough to tidy it.” Sherlock felt Jim’s head resting on his back, and his heart swelled. It was all he could do not to turn around and kiss the smaller man right there, but he had to finish writing the message on this damn cake…

“I baked you a present,” said Sherlock. “Ooh, Sherly, keep talking. Your back vibrates when you talk.”

“That’s because-”

“Don’t you dare.” Jim pulled himself off the other man, looking at the cake Sherlock was now holding. It was big, and rectangle, and had white royal icing, and _FUCK THE POLICE_  written on it in wobbly blue letters. Jim smiled as he thought of all the effort Sherlock had made today, just to make him happy. It almost made up for him not being at the police station.

“I love it,” he said, hugging Sherlock again. “Let’s have it for dinner.”

Jim cut up thee cake, and the wheels in his head started turning. He was done playing victim. Now he knew where his parents actually were (not that he couldn’t have found out, had he wanted to), he was coming for them. He was coming down on them like fire, and they would burn in hell. He didn’t realise he was digging the knife into the table until he tried to cut another piece of cake, and found it was stuck in the table. He put on his best charming face, and carried the sliced cake through.

They chewed in near silence. The cake was good, but Jim’s mind was elsewhere. He’d become soft over these last few months; all this time with Sherlock was changing who he was. The old Jim was still there though, deep in the depths of his mind, and he began to bring him out. The old Jim tore out of his bonds, and he sat down and started planning revenge.

He would need help. However big his personality was, Jim knew Terence was pretty big, and when he hit, it hurt. Jim glanced over at Sherlock, sitting in his chair, eating cake and flipping through case notes.

_He’d do it, with the right amount of persuasion._

But how to persuade him? Sherlock wasn’t what most people would describe as a good man, but skewed as his moral compass was, it still pointed somewhere vaguely north, whereas Jim’s compass was lacking a needle. Sherlock had weaknesses though; everyone did, and no one knew Sherlock’s better than Jim. He took a deep breath.

“Sherly, dear?”

“Mhm?” Sherlock barely glanced up from his notes and cake. “I need your help.” Sherlock looked up, putting his notes to one side. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, no, nothing’s wrong, I just… I have a sort of quest, if you will. You see, I’d like to go and see Nina and Terence, now that I know they’re in Cornwall, and I just want to see if they recognise me. I need you to come with me. “We’re going under cover you see, and I’m going to pretend to be a journalist from the local paper, and you can be my photographer.” Sherlock looked hesitant. “Are you sure that’s safe, Jim? I mean, they did… you know…”

“That’s why you’re coming. Oh, Sherly, please say yes! I just need them to see me before they get locked up, so they can see how well I’ve done with life.”

“Okay, Jim,” agreed Sherlock. “When do we go?”

“I’ll email them tonight, and ideally we’ll be round tomorrow.” Sherlock nodded. “In which case, I’m going to bed. Feel free to join me whenever.” Jim kissed Sherlock goodnight, and as soon as the bedroom door was shut, Jim grinned to himself.

Yes, Sherlock Holmes couldn’t resist a pair of puppy dog eyes, but even worse? He didn’t know when he was being lied to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, naughty Jim! I'm so glad he's back :)


	11. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim head down to Cornwall. Sherlock knows deep down that something's not right, but he just can't place it...

Sherlock watched as Jim knocked on the door of a big house, stomach churning viciously. He counted to three before a slim woman with curly black hair infused with grey streaks and wrinkles around her eyes opened the door. Sherlock did all he could not to gape; this woman looked perfectly normal, and like she couldn’t hit a child if her life depended on it. _But then again, you know better than most that the most disturbed people are the people who are best at hiding it._

He smiled politely as she ushered them through the door, offering them drinks and biscuits with a soft Irish accent. A ginger man stood in the centre of the room, beaming. Jim sat down on the armchair, and proceeded to ask his parents some questions. “Good morning, Mr and Mrs Lepton, thank you so much for having us round. If you don’t mind, I’ll ask you some questions regarding your extensive charity work, then my assistant here will photograph you together for a picture to accompany the article.”

The couple nodded, and Terence started to speak. “A fellow Irishman, hey? Tell me, where abouts are you from?”

“A small village, just outside of Dublin, actually,” said Jim, fake smile fixed in place. “Really? We’re from around there! Hey, you looks to be of about the right age to know our good for nothing son. Does the name James Moriarty ring a bell?” Jim shook his head. “How unusual that he’s not James Lepton,” he mused. “Yes well, you see, I was married before I met Terence here, to a brutish oaf who was truly awful,” said Nina. “Before he started the abuse, I had a son with him, and after the divorce James insisted on keeping his father’s last name.” Terence shook his head. “Awful father, awful kid… Apple never falls far from the tree, does it? I provided for this kid all of his life, and then he runs off to university and we never hear from him again. Disgraceful, I say.” Jim nodded slowly, and Sherlock could sense a storm brewing.

“Shall we, err, get on with the interview?” he suggested quickly. Oh, how he hoped they could get this stupid thing over with so he could go home. He hadn’t really wanted to come, but he didn’t dare let Jim come here on his own, and anyway, it was so hard to say no sometimes…

“Good idea,” said Jim, making a show of flipping to the right page in his notebook as Nina and Terence faffed about on the sofa. “Right then, first things first: how would you define the term ‘sexual abuse’?”

_Oh no._ suddenly, it snapped in Sherlock’s head. Why Jim had wanted to come here, why he insisted Sherlock came with him… It was too  late to do anything now. To back out now would be suicide, one way or another.

Nina and Terence looked at each other uncomfortably. “We’re not sure what you mean, dear…” Jim smiled, his face twisting into a sick grin. “Oh, you know, raping a thirteen year old, carrying it on for five years until he had the guts to run away?” Terence sprang to his feet, and Sherlock bounded to Jim’s side. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but you have no right to come into our house and accuse us of such dreadful crimes…”

“Accuse? Who said anything about accusing? Seems to me you’ve a guilty conscience, Mr Lepton.” Terence studied Jim for a moment. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jim stood up with a flourish. “My name is James Moriarty, and I’m the most dangerous man in England. You made a big mistake trying to touch my sister, and now you’re going to pay!” Nina stood, mouth catching flies. “James?” she said finally. “Hello, mother,” snarled Jim. “Did you miss me? Because I sure as hell didn’t miss you! I had no idea where you were until Jessie told me. It’s a shame really. You could have lived. I was willing to forget about you and move on, but you two, oh no, ruining one child’s life isn’t enough for you. You had to drag my baby sister in, and you’ll be happy to know she’s at Scotland Yard as we speak, telling both our stories to the police.” A worried glance was exchanged between Nina and Terence. “Oh, don’t worry though,” smiled Jim. “You won’t spend a single day in jail, because by the time the police get here, all they’ll have are two corpses.”

“You always were a jumped up little brat,” said Terence, slowly walking towards Jim. Sherlock noticed his hand slip into his pocket to a slim rectangular shape. “Jim,” he muttered. “He’s got a flick blade. Right hand.” Jim nodded as Terence continued. “And if you think for one second I’m going to let you live, you’re thoroughly mistaken. Although,” he said, glancing up and down Jim. “I believe we could come to some kind of arrangement.”

“You are not going to touch him again.” To everyone’s surprise, Nina spoke up from the corner of the room. Everyone turned to star at her. “Terence, you are not going to touch him,” she repeated, gaining confidence. “What, you’re getting cold feet now? Now that he’s shown up with his faggot boyfriend, who I’m going to rape before I kill him, right before the stupid brat’s face?” Sherlock felt his heart race, but decided to play it brave. “For your information, a faggot is a type of pork dish, and Jim is not my boyfriend, he’s my husband. He’s also of above average intelligence in the disciplines of chemistry, languages and criminology. Oh, and he can also kill a man using any object handy.” Terence snorted. “I doubt this little runt could kill a fly.”

Jim had used Sherlock’s distraction to slowly creep behind Terence, and suddenly grabbed the hand holding the flick blade, holding it up to the larger man’s throat. “Any last words?”

Terence struggled against Jim’s grip, but his bulk was useless against Jim’s smarts. A quick flick of the wrist and Terence slumped to the floor, throat slit open in a scarlet spray.

Nina came with them to London, sitting silently between Jim and Sherlock in the back of the taxi. All the way, all Sherlock could think about was how stupid he’d been for not seeing through Jim’s little trick. It was almost like Jim was manipulating him into committing crime, and Sherlock didn’t want to do that. Sure, he’d disregard a law or two every once in a while, but he wasn’t a criminal. He was a good man, or that was what he told himself.

Jim noticed Sherlock’s silence during the journey, and wondered if maybe he’d pushed the detective a little too far. After all, he was painfully _good,_ and one didn’t just turn bad. You had to ease people into it, and murder… it was always hard the first time.

They arrived outside Scotland Yard, and Nina hung her head in shame. Jim could almost feel sorry for her, but images flashed before his mind of bruises that would sometimes take weeks to heal, shouting, closing the door quietly in spite of the tears rolling down her son’s face…

Jim shook these memories away angrily, and lead her inside the police station, watching the shocked looked on Lestrade’s face as Jim pushed her into his office. “Where’s your father?” he managed to ask eventually. “Suicide,” said Sherlock. “Said he wasn’t going to jail.” Nina said nothing as Sherlock outright lied to Lestrade. They left the police station after promising Lestrade they’d never do anything so stupid again, and headed off home.


	12. Now or never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim fight out their differences

As soon as they got back to 221B, Sherlock headed off to the bedroom without saying a word to Jim. He needed time to think about the day’s events. Jim watched him go, understanding without needing to be told. The bedroom door clicked shut quietly, and Jim thought about pouring himself half a glass of scotch, but instead settled for orange juice. He would have to have a talk with his husband eventually, and he wanted to make sure he wasn’t under any sort of influence.

He left it half an hour before getting bored. _It’s now or never,_ he thought to himself. He knocked on the bedroom door. “Sherlock?”

“Come in.” Jim tried to swallow a lump in his throat as he turned the door handle. Sherlock was sat on his bed, cross legged, hair looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. This was never a good sign. “About what happened today…” began Jim.

“Let me guess; you didn’t want to kill him, you just got caught up in the spur of the moment.” Jim shook his head. “No Sherlock; no. it’s not like that at all.”

“Oh, you’re sorry you lied to me? Because you’re not, Jim. You never are sorry.” Sherlock didn’t know why he was being so snappy, and he almost tried to take it back when he saw the hurt expression on Jim’s face, but then in his mind’s eye the look of pleasure on Jim’s face as the knife pierced Terence’s skin, and his resolution re-hardened. “I know what you’re doing, Jim. You want me to join your side of things, but what you don’t realise is that it would never work.”

“Why not? You’re brilliant, and together we could literally rule the world,” argued Jim. “I don’t want the world!” shouted Sherlock. “Don’t you get it, dummy? I don’t want the world, I just want you and me, together and happy.” Jim flinched as Sherlock raised his voice. “We could be,” he said, voice quiet. “We can be happy together, Sherlock.”

“Do you know why I’m so upset, Jim? It’s because you lied to me. I don’t care if you’ve killed more people than I can count, I don’t care if you’re broken and damaged, I don’t care if you’re rich and dangerous and powerful. I do care that you manipulated me. You lied to me, and I didn’t have time to say no.”

“Well what did you think we were doing!” shouted Jim. “You honestly believed we were going to visit the people who abused me for fucking years for a cup of tea and a fucking biscuit?”

“I believed that you weren’t going to put us both in danger for the sake of your own ego!” shouted back Sherlock. _God knows what Mrs Hudson thinks,_ he thought. _Fuck it, I don’t care._

“My ego? My ego! You think this was about my ego? I thought you were supposed to be smart, Sherlock! This was about revenge, pure and simple. Open your eyes, _Sherly,_ because life isn’t a fucking fairy tale! The bad guys aren’t shady men with scars and a superiority complex, they’re our neighbours. They’re the people down the road who run a sex trafficking ring. They’re the loving parents who beat their little boy senseless every night, and you can’t swoop in and save the day without someone getting hurt. Face it, Sherlock, there are no happy endings for people like us.” Jim felt scarily close to tears.

“I don’t- I mean, I’m not…” Sherlock trailed off, lost for words, tears pricking at his eyes. He hated himself for it. Crying meant caring, and caring meant getting hurt.

“I’m not a bad person,” he said, quietly. “But you are. And that’s why I love you, I think. I love you, Jim.”

“I love you too Sherlock, but we need to do something about this,” replied Jim. “We can’t fight like this.”

“How about we don’t discuss work? If you ever feel the need to discuss work, text Moran. I won’t talk about cases with you.” Jim swallowed before nodding. “Okay, Sherlock. I won’t tell you about my work, or get you involved with it.” Sherlock smiled and leaned in for a kiss. Their lips only touched briefly, but both felt the emotion behind it. “Come on,” said Jim. “Let’s order take away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, really? As simple as that? I don't think so...


	13. Let the games begin...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's not letting Sherlock off that easily, and he's got a plan.

A fortnight had passed since their fight, and Jim decided it was time to put his plan into action. _Honestly, did Sherlock_ really _think it was that easy?_  Jim had decided that Sherlock would work by his side, and he intended to see it happen. He would work himself stupid, ignoring Sherlock because he’d agreed not to talk to Sherlock about his work. Eventually, Sherlock would get bored without Jim’s attention, and he’d start ‘solving Jim’s problems for him’, meaning he’d be coming up with perfect crimes and putting his career as a criminal in the fast lane. Jim wanted to giggle, his plan was so brilliant. He sent a text to Sebastian.

_Refer every case to me. Stage one is go. JM._

_Stage one is go. SM_ came the confirmatory text. “Who’s making you so happy?” asked Sherlock. “Oh, just Moran. I’d tell you, but it’d go against our agreement.” Sherlock nodded in understanding. “I have to say, you’ve adapted well to the change,” commented Sherlock. “It’s easy; I don’t bring up things that make my baby cry, and my baby stays happy, and that’s all that’s important.”

_Client just in. Wants to scare a bully that’s picking on his daughter. SM._

“Sorry, dear, have to cut this short,” said Jim, just as Sherlock was about to come back with a witty retort. “I’ll be right back.”

He went and got his laptop, and sat in his chair nearly all afternoon, helping clients and picking up dirt on people. He was watching Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, and the detective was getting restless. _This is going to be easier than I thought,_ Jim thought to himself. _It’s been hours, and he’s already-_

“I’m going out,” announced Sherlock, dramatically flouncing off the sofa and out the door. Jim chuckled to himself as the door slammed.

*****

Sherlock headed over to John’s house. He felt like a change of scenery, and Jim had been ignoring him all day. _I know I said don’t talk to me about work, but feel free to talk to me about anything else._ He arrived at John’s house and rang the bell. Jessica opened the door. “John! Mary! It’s Sherlock!” she shouted. “Hello, Sherlock. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing well, thanks Jessica,” said Sherlock as he wiped his feet. “How are you settling in at school?”

“Oh, it’s great,” replied Jessica enthusiastically. “I love living in London; all the hustle, and the city life just suits me really well.” Sherlock smiled as Jessica talked about London. He was glad she was happy. Mary appeared, sticking her head through the door. “Come on through, Sherlock. We’re trying to get Rose to walk. Maybe you can help!” Sherlock followed Mary through the doors to find John sat on the floor, playing with Rose. “John!” called Mary. John looked up and a camera shutter clicked shut. “Do we really need so many photos?” asked John. “Isn’t mummy being silly?” he asked Rose in a stupid voice. “Isn’t she? Isn’t she?” John tickled the baby girl, causing a fit of giggles. “Sherlock, how about you sit at the other end of the room to John, and we’ll try and get Rose to walk over to you.” Sherlock did as he was told, settling down with his back against the wall.

John turned Rose around to face Sherlock, and she gurgled when Sherlock smiled and waved at her. “GO on, Rose, walk to Uncle Sherlock!” John let go of her waist, and everyone held their breath as Rose teetered and took a wobbly step, then another, then another… until she fell into Sherlock’s outstretched arms. Mary gasped as Jessica stopped the recording on her phone. “Good girl!” cooed Sherlock, lifting Rose up into the air. He was vaguely aware of a camera sound, and turned to see Jessica and Mary had both taken a photo at the same time. Sherlock handed Rose back to John and Jessica showed him the video of Rose walking and the photo. “Send me that photo,” said Sherlock, smiling down at the screen.  “I’ll show it to Jim.”

“How’s James doing?” asked Jessica. “Was he too busy to come over?” Sherlock nodded. “He’s been busy all day, tapping away on his laptop.” Jessica rolled her eyes. “I’ll text him, tell him to stop ignoring you.” Sherlock laughed, not sure how Jim would react to a text from his little sister telling him to be more social. “Speaking of Jim, I ought to be heading home. Thanks for everything!” he called, already partially out the door. He felt a lot better for his little excursion, and was ready to play for Jim’s attention.


	14. Trials and tribulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim starts process A, and Sherlock is already close to the edge.

Jim was lying stretched out on the sofa when Sherlock got back. “So baby Rose took her first steps, huh?” Sherlock nodded. “How did you know?”

“Jessie posted the video on Facebook.”

“I’m so glad you’ve been working all this time,” smiled Sherlock. “Oh but I have. Except I have a problem, so I’m going to need to be left alone while I figure it out.” Sherlock nodded, and fetched his laptop to check his email for cases.

Hours passed, and the two consultants sat in silence, until Sherlock fell asleep at his desk. Jim sprung off the sofa lightly, knowing how much of a delicate sleeper Sherlock was. He retrieved his phone from the coffee table where it lay dormant.

_Start process A. JM_

_Process A is in effect, with instant repercussions for those in violation. SM_

Jim grinned. Process A meant stopping all organised crime. Of course, there’d still be the petty thefts and the spur-of-the-moment murders, but Sherlock wouldn’t bother with  those anyway. Oh, it was going to drive the detective crazy having absolutely nothing to do.

Jim glanced over at the detective’s sleeping form, and his heart filled with love. He loved his detective like no one else, and it was killing him to have to do this, but needs must. He had a beautiful vision of himself and Sherlock making out wearing the crown jewels.

_Maybe someday._

The detective stirred in his sleep, and Jim hopped lightly over to the sofa. Sherlock lifted his head blearily. “Jim?”

“Daddy’s thinking, Sherlock.”

“Come on, Jim. I need you.” Jim died a little inside, but made himself keep up the act. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, but unless you’d like to think of a solution, my attention is otherwise occupied until further notice.”

Sherlock felt like strangling Jim. He’d woken up feeling particularly vulnerable, and here was Jim refusing to comfort him. “What the fuck is it?”

“A banker in severe debt, on the wanted list for fraud in many countries, needs a way out.”

“Obviously fake suicide. Something public so people can see it with their own eyes, and send him packing to Greenland or somewhere. You’re slipping, dear.” Jim grinned. “Of course!” in reality, the man was long gone into Siberia, having faked his death publicly. “Come here,” he said, stretching out his arms which Sherlock gladly fell into, snuggling into Jim’s embrace and promptly falling asleep.

Jim had wanted to test Sherlock, to see if he could come up with solutions for his problems. To see how hard he’d have to push before Sherlock fell for his trick. Next time, he’d give Sherlock one he hadn’t already fixed.


	15. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets desperate for Jim's attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good ol' fashioned smut chapter, because shut up.

 Sherlock was sick of being ignored, and had decided to start a campaign for Jim’s affections. He went through his wardrobe and found the purple shirt Jim said he liked, and fixed his hair mirror so that it was tousled and messy, but not sticking out everywhere.

Gliding into the living room, he noticed Jim smile slightly upon his entrance. He perched on the end of the sofa, running his fingers up and down Jim’s leg. Jim tried his very best to ignore him, but his body betrayed him.

Sherlock chuckled to himself, and decided to stretch himself out alongside Jim, placing his hands on his chest and his lips gently on his. Jim moaned a little, but tried his damned best to hide it…

Sherlock wound his hands round Jim’s neck, and deepened the kiss. Jim refused to kiss back, sticking to his policy of ignoring Sherlock unless he solved a problem. Sherlock moved his mouth downwards, planting little kisses down Jim’s neck, using brushes of tongue and little nips of teeth to drive Jim crazy. “Come on, Jim. You know you can’t ignore me forever.”

“I can while my mind’s occupied,” replied Jim, strain in his voice. “Evidently not,” commented Sherlock. He began to slowly undo Jim’s buttons, and dragged his fingers lightly across his chest.  Jim stifled a small noise, but there was nothing he could do about what was happening in his pants. Sherlock unzipped Jim’s trousers, and ghosted his mouth around the base of Jim’s cock.

Jim lost it. He couldn’t ignore Sherlock any more, not when he was being so damn distracting. He moaned deeply, and grabbed Sherlock’s hair, pulling him up to face level and kissing him deeply, feeling him smiling. “Shut up,” he growled. “Not a word out of you; you don’t get to speak if you don’t solve a problem.”    Sherlock had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself form moaning when Jim bit down hard on his neck. He tried to work his way back down to Jim’s trousers, but Jim pulled him up. “Oh no, you’re going to wait. After all, that is the aim of the game, isn’t it? Waiting.” Sherlock thrashed about as Jim undressed him as slowly as possible. “Go on, Sherly. Undress me.”  Sherlock practically tore off Jim’s clothes, too far in to wait. Trailing his mouth down Jim’s abdomen, Sherlock glanced up at Jim to see if he was okay with him progressing. “Do it, Sherlock. It’s been too long since we did this.”

Sherlock could only nod in agreement as he wrapped his mouth around Jim, working his tongue furiously. He felt Jim’s muscles tense up before Jim pulled him back up to face level into a kiss. Sherlock wormed his way onto Jim’s lap, and waited for Jim’s nod of approval before lowering himself down onto Jim’s cock.

His vision went blank as the pain and pleasure shot through him. This was his first time without prep, and it hurt like hell, and Jim was his own personal demon. “Alright, Sherlock?” asked Jim. Sherlock nodded desperately as he bounced experimentally, sensations washing over him in waves. He picked up the pace, matched by Jim’s thrusts. The tension was building like a coiled spring, and, and…

“Ah, Jim!” Sherlock came all over Jim’s abdomen, promptly losing his balance and falling onto the floor, Jim finishing shortly afterwards.

“Ecuador,” said Sherlock eventually. “The embassy in Ecuador is looking for a new ambassador, and your client is perfect for the job.” Jim smiled up at the ceiling. _Yes._ “How do you know, my dear?”

“I, erm, might have guessed the password into your laptop. You need to try harder next time- WILLIAM is not a secure password.” Jim laughed. “Ecuador it is. However, I will need your assistance in one tiny detail.” Sherlock sat up quickly. “I’m not murdering anyone, Jim.”

“And you won’t have to,” assured Jim quickly. “I’m asking you to stand look out, as it were, while I murder someone.”

Sherlock hesitated. His first impulse was to say no, but something made him stop. _All you’d be doing is keeping look out. Anyway, even if you don’t go, Jim will. This way, you can make sure he won’t end up in prison._

Minutes passed before Sherlock finally gave his answer. “Alright Jim. I’ll come, just to keep watch; just this one time.” Jim perked up. “Brilliant! Go take a shower, Sherly, we’re going this evening.”


	16. Old habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes with Jim to keep guard, but things take a nasty turn, adn sherlock ends up running into an old acquaintance.

“Remind me again why we’re going instead of Moran,” said Sherlock, hopping nervously from one foot to the other. “Because, Sherlock, I think this one requires a little more finesse than a bullet through the brain from a distance. Stay here, and keep checking your watch nervously like you’re being stood up. I’ll be back before you know it.” Jim gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and disappeared round the corner.

Sherlock stood in an alleyway by the side of a restaurant. There definitely were classier ways to spend an evening, rather than being stood in a dismal alley that smelled of what Sherlock hoped was old food and nothing more sinister. He was posted by the major escape route by a fire exit, armed with a simple handgun.

“I refuse to leave you unarmed,” Jim had said, holding it out to Sherlock, face set in an expression that suggested Sherlock didn’t argue.

Sherlock could feel the metal pressed cold against him, and prayed he wouldn’t have to use it. Killing really wasn’t his style, and if he were to kill a man, he’d make it a little more personal than just a shot in the chest. There was a thump against the door, and Sherlock’s hand went to his gun, but no one came out.

Just as Sherlock was letting his guard down, the door flung open, and a bleeding man staggered out, and began making a run for it. “Stop,” said Sherlock calmly, pulling his gun.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked the man. “It doesn’t matter,” replied Sherlock. “I want you to put your hands on your head, and drop to the floor.” The man laughed. “I don’t think so. In fact I think I’d better kill you, just for good measure.” He ran at Sherlock, knife pulled.

Sherlock panicked. This man was bigger than him, both in height and muscle mass, and was probably trained in how to kill people. He closed his eyes and heard a loud bang.

_That wasn’t me. Please say I didn’t just kill him._ Sherlock opened his eyes, and saw his assailant on the floor, gasping, and red thick liquid flowing from an open wound in his throat. Sherlock dropped his gun. “What have I done?” he whispered to himself.

There was another thud on the door that snapped Sherlock to his senses. He had to go; he had to run, now. He picked up and ran as fast as he could away from the scene of his crime.

He ran down alleyways and side roads until a stitch in his side forced him to stop. He leaned back against a fence, gasping for breath.

“Mr Holmes?” a shady sounding voice that Sherlock recognised sounded from the shadows. “Haven’t seen you round these parts in a while. Your usual dosage, or something a little stronger?” Sherlock could just make out the shape of Henry, one of his old dealers. “Mycroft not paid you off then?” Henry shook his head. “Big brother’s stopped keeping an eye on me. Good thing too; he was scaring off customers.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll take something a little stronger Henry.” It was a bad decision, Sherlock knew that, but he’d just killed a man, and his entire world had been flipped on its head. He needed an escape from the horror of reality.

Sherlock got back to 221B, and Jim wasn’t there. Good. He’d only try and talk Sherlock out of what he was doing, and Sherlock couldn’t be bothered for that bullshit right now.

He went to the kitchen table and prepared his drugs. By the time he flicked the needle, he barely had enough control to stop himself from just injecting the entire thing as fast as he could. Instead, he pressed down on the end of the syringe as slowly as he could, then sat back and waited for that buzz to take over his mind.

It didn’t take long before Sherlock was crumpled on the floor, buzz having been and gone, leaving him empty and unconscious.

*****

Jim got back to 221B in a slightly apprehensive mood. He’d burst through the fire exit of the restaurant after the man who’d gotten away, only to find him dead on the floor and no sign of Sherlock anywhere. He’d tried calling, he’d texted the detective, and he’d kept a sharp eye open on the way home for any sign of his husband. He was hoping that the detective would be stretched across the sofa, deep in his mind palace.

He opened the door, and noticed the lack of detective on the sofa immediately. He wasn’t in his chair either. Jim could hear breathing in the kitchen. “Sherlock?” he called, hand resting lightly on his gun; just in case. “Sherlock, where are you?” Jim made his way into the kitchen, and tripped over. He turned back to see what he’d tripped over, and almost burst into tears.

His precious detective was in a pile on the floor. “Sherlock!” he cried. He rolled him over, checking him for wounds. Nothing, but why was one of one of his sleeves rolled up… _oh no._

Jim checked the table, only to have his fears confirmed. An empty syringe lay on the table. Jim turned his attention back to Sherlock. He dropped to the floor beside him, cradling the detective’s head in his lap, stroking his hair out of his face. “Oh, Sherly, what have you done to yourself?”

“Nothing I won’t regret,” came Sherlock’s voice, faint and weak. Jim laughed weakly, glad he was awake. “Sherlock, for a genius, you’re so fucking dumb. You scared the living shit out of me, all for the brief pleasure of getting high. You’re never going to do it again.”

“Yes _Mycroft,_ ” grumbled Sherlock. “You think this is a joke?” said Jim, feeling his temperature rise. “I swear to god, Sherlock, I will lock you in this house if it means you can’t get any drugs. I will kill off every dealer in London, I’ll put you under twenty four hour surveillance, but I will not let my husband poison his beautiful mind.”

Sherlock examined the gold band around the ring finger on his left hand. He never took it off, not even when he showered or slept. “Have you even noticed what’s written inside the ring?” asked Jim softly. Sherlock’s brow creased as he eased the ring off his finger, wondering what Jim was on about.

_For better or for worse, I’ll always be there._

“No matter where we end up; whether I’m in jail or you’re being harassed by media, or even if you’ve just committed your first murder, I will be here to hold your hand. You don’t need to do this to yourself.”

Sherlock could feel the tendrils of sleep hooking his mind again. “I love you,” he whispered, world fading black, but staying awake just long enough to hear Jim’s reply.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end's a little bit soppy, but Sherlock's just committed his first major crime! i wonder where things will go from here...


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft pays a visit, and leaves Jim feeling insecure. Will Sherlock ever come round to his way of thinking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a wee filler chapter for you all, just while the creative juices get flowing.

Jim woke up before Sherlock the next day. He wasted no time in getting up and making his way through to the kitchen, searching for any leftover drugs that Sherlock might be tempted by.

“Don’t worry, James, I’ve already taken care of that.” Jim groaned inwardly as Mycroft’s smug voice grated on his ears. “How long have you been sat there?” he asked instead of voicing the profanities streaming through his mind. “Oh, at least an hour I should think. Anyway, I came as soon as I heard about Sherlock’s little episode last night. That nitwit Henry thinks I’m not watching him anymore; he couldn’t be more wrong.”

“I always thought wrong was a non-quantifiable term.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You’re as bad as each other. Anyhow, I thought I’d drop by and make sure he’s never going to do it again.”

“That’s already been taken care of,” said Jim, still running through all the curse words he’d ever heard. “Has it? You know, not just anyone can control my little brother.”

“And not just anyone can break into the home of the most wanted criminal in England and live to tell the tale, so I suggest you get your umbrella and get out.” Mycroft stood up, stepping close enough to Jim that his warm breath brushed past the criminal’s face. “Don’t forget, James, that while you may be married to my brother, you don’t know him as well as I do. Give it a month, maybe two, and he’ll throw you onto the pavement like all the rest of his old toys. I’m surprised you lasted this long.” He stepped back. “Well, thank you very much, Jim, but I think I’ll head off. I’m a busy man!”

“Yeah, yeah. Say hi to Greg for me, and don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.” Mycroft exited gracefully, nose in the air. He’d done his job. The seed of doubt was planted in Jim’s brain. What if Sherlock did get bored with him? What then? It’s not like Jim would have nothing; he’d still have his web, and his money, and his sister, but he’d have lost his most precious possession.

_That settles it. Sherlock will have to be my partner in crime, that way he’ll never get bored._

Sherlock ambled through to the living room, yawning. “Good morning, Jim. What’s for breakfast?” Jim smiled as he was snapped out of his thoughts. “Pancakes,” he decided, all of a sudden craving something sweet. Sherlock nodded in approval, and flopped down on the sofa, falling back to sleep. Jim set to work in the kitchen, pondering how he was going to set about bringing Sherlock though to his world. He wasn’t going to want to jump right in, not because of what happened last night. He was going to have to start off with heists, and robbery; and Jim had just the thing in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Mycroft, thou art a huge dick! Always trying to do what's right, it's boring...   
> Sorry for the filler :)


	18. Sherlock's first crime (take two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has another go at crime, and this time it goes a little better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait, folks! We have these wonderful things in England called 'A-levels'. Trust me, they're a total nightmare, especially if you're already predisposed to stress...  
> Anyway, I'm back, and I hope you enjoy it. Comments and kudos are always welcome, even if it's telling me to get my butt in gear! :)

Lady Beatrice searched through her jewellery box for her favourite necklace; ‘The King’s Ransom’, as it was affectionately referred to by her maids. It really was worth a king’s ransom. It had far too many expensive jewels on it for good taste, but the thing that made it so valuable was its history. Crafted for Marie Antoinette, she had declared it too fine to wear apart from on the finest of occasions, and it had been stolen by thieves off her corpse during the French revolution.  
Napoléon Bonaparte had offered a handsome reward for it, and as a result the necklace was brought forwards by an old peasant man, whom Napoléon had assassinated so that he wouldn’t have to pay the man for his troubles. After Napoléon’s defeat by the British at the battle of Waterloo, the necklace was offered to the Admiral Nelson’s widow by the King as some form of payment for the sacrifices of her husband for King and country. The necklace had then made its way from noble to noble, its presence on a lady’s neck instantly boosting said lady to the highest level of importance at any high-brow occasion.  
That was the reason Lady Beatrice needed it now. She was to attend a gathering of all the noble families in England, something to do with the House of Lords, she presumed, and she was going to catch herself a husband.   
“Lily, did you see where Anna put my necklace?” she called out. “No, my lady. It’s funny you should ask though; she just went into town.” Beatrice stopped. “What?” she asked. Lily poked her head round the door of the walk in wardrobe. “Yes, she said that you were out of lipstick so she went into town to get you some more,” she said.  
“No, Lily, you don’t understand. I asked Anna to put out my clothes and the necklace when I was in the bath, and when I returned my clothes were on my bed ready for me.” Lily looked alarmed. “Well, I didn’t put them out,” she said slowly. Beatrice paled. “Lily, I want you to call the police. I fear something may have happened to that necklace, and as much as I don’t want it to be true, I think Anna may have something to do with it.” Lily nodded as she rushed out of the room. Beatrice thought she might cry. If she’d lost that necklace, then her life would not be worth living.  
*****  
Meanwhile in London, Sherlock and Jim sat in 221B laughing. It had been so easy. Of course, Sherlock had needed a little convincing, especially after last time, but he’d eventually agreed and the heist had gone off without a hitch, and they’d even had a scapegoat when one of the maids had headed off out of the mansion. That part hadn’t been planned, but it was fortunate.  
“I can’t believe that was so easy,” said Sherlock, still giggling slightly. Jim nodded. “God, she was thick. You’d think a necklace like that would be under more protection, but no.” Sherlock’s eyes felly on the bag with the necklace inside. “What are we going to do with it now? I doubt it’d suit either of us.” Jim mock pouted. “Oh, Sherly! You always have to rain on my parade.” Sherlock giggled as he thought of Jim in a full length ball gown with the necklace draped round his neck.   
“Anyway, I’ll probably end up selling it to someone,” pondered Jim. Sherlock lapsed into thought. “It’s a shame, really,” he said, thinking out loud. “This is the type of case seven year old me would have been all over. I wonder what seven year old me would think of me today, now that we’ve just done this.” Jim knew what was happening. The adrenaline kick was over; now Sherlock would begin to rationalize with himself, tear himself to pieces, and the guilt would slowly creep in…  
“I bet seven year old Sherlock was a real cutie,” he said, desperately trying to change the subject. “I had such a strong sense of right and wrong back then,” continued Sherlock, ignoring Jim. “I knew what was good and what was bad, and I could give literal dictionary definitions, but now… I’m not so sure.” Jim elected to stay silent, knowing that to say the wrong thing now would be disastrous. “If a man breaks the law, does that make him a bad person? Logic dictates yes, but I’m not so sure. I’ve killed a man, a crime for which I would normally be punished by thirty or so years in jail. But I shot the man so he couldn’t get away and commit more crime, so by committing one crime, I’ve potentially reduced the number of crimes to be committed in the future.”  
Jim might as well not be in the room for all the attention Sherlock was paying him. He wasn’t sure if he should stay or not, but he was too interested in Sherlock’s soliloquy to leave. “That’s solid logic. But what happens if you let one man get away with his crimes? If one man can kill another and walk away scot-free, what’s to stop someone else? And then someone else? Eventually, the system crumbles, and society descends into anarchy. In order to prevent this, the law says every man must be punished if he commits a crime, no matter how beneficial in the long run. The law says I must be punished for one count of murder and one of theft of property. Even if I were to go to court, though, Mycroft would pull strings; keep me out of jail, for mummy and daddy’s sake if nothing else. I can break the law, and no matter what I’ve done, I will never go to prison for it. But then again…”  
Jim got sick of hearing Sherlock argue with himself, and decided to go to the kitchen to make a start on preparing dinner. It was distressing to hear Sherlock tear himself to pieces like that. He shouldn’t have expected him to just be totally fine. He hadn’t had the rough start in life Jim had had, and it was difficult for people like Sherlock to turn towards crime.  
People like Sherlock. God, how Jim hated them. The people that barely gave him so much as a sideways glance when he was young, and now all they wanted was his attention, thinking their money gave them priority. Jim didn’t need anything as common as money. He needed secrets, little pieces of trivia about men in high places, or factoids about a new missile base being built where it shouldn’t be. He smiled to himself as he threw some pasta into a pan. “What’s made you so happy?” asked Sherlock, arms slipping round Jim’s waist. Jim tipped his head back, leaning it on Sherlock’s chest. “You, dear.”  
Sherlock had learnt not to question Jim’s random moments of sentimentality, but rather cherish them, and take advantage of them as much as possible. “How about we watch a Bond movie while we eat?” Jim rolled his eyes. “How quaint, but I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” He watched Sherlock saunter back into the living room, appreciating the view.   
Yes, Sherlock would make a fine partner in crime; he just needed a little moulding.


	19. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Sherlock tackles his guilty conscience, he and Jim agree on something that makes them both happy... for now.

The next morning, Sherlock barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up. He stood over the toilet bowl retching, emptying his stomach until he was throwing up bile. A strange sensation mixed around his stomach, which he decided was hunger. Without waking Jim (after all, it was six am), he crept through to the kitchen to find some cereal. He took his bowl through to the living room, camping out on the sofa while he ate. His eyes fell on a smallish satchel in the corner of the room, and for some strange reason, the feeling in his gut got worse. _What was in that bag again?_

_The necklace._ Sherlock felt like throwing up again. _Is this what people call guilt?_ He mused. He’d never done anything he considered worthy of being guilty about, so he guessed that this was the sensation most people experienced when feeling guilty. _John would know. I’ll call John later._ He set his bowl down on the coffee table, not feeling like eating anymore, and before he knew it, he’d nodded off on the sofa.

Jim woke up to an empty bed, which was unusual. The other side was cold, indicating the detective had been gone for some time. He crawled out of bed to see where his husband could have gotten to. The bathroom door had been thrown open, and Jim poked his head round… _What was that smell?_

Jim’s nose crinkled as he saw the vomit in the toilet, standing at arm’s length, flushing it away. His path lead him into the living room, where Sherlock lay asleep in front of a bowl of soggy cereal. Gently pressing his hand to his forehead, Jim checked Sherlock’s temperature… 37.5; perfect. There was an opportunity to be taken here…

Jim cuddled up next to Sherlock on the sofa, body moulding against Sherlock’s like they were pieces of a jigsaw. Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered open, the confused expression on his face softening into a smile when he saw Jim cuddled up next to him. His arms instinctively went round Jim’s waist. “Jim?”

“Mhm?”

“I can’t do it,” blurted out Sherlock, face burning red in shame. “I’m not a natural criminal, and I can’t deal with guilt, I’m so sorry…” Jim placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. “It’s okay, Sherly. We’ll give the necklace back, and no one will even know it was us.” He placed his mouth on Sherlock’s, and they kissed deeply.

Jim pulled away first. “That’s enough for now. We’ve got work to do, you and I. Get dressed; I expect you’ll be receiving a call from Lady Beatrice any moment now, hiring your services in retrieving her stolen necklace.” Sherlock sighed, feeling as if a weight had been lifted. “Jim’ll fix it,” he muttered. Jim laughed. “That’s right,” he said, kissing him lightly on the nose. “Jim’ll make everything all better.”

They agreed Jim would text him fake clues throughout the day, supposedly leading him to the real culprit, someone whom one of Jim’s clients wanted out of the way. “Two birds with one stone,” Jim had said. Later that day, the necklace had been recovered, along with sufficient evidence to put Philip Sundman, husband of the cheating Amanda Sundman who wanted to run off with her new lover, away for a while. Jim had done his job properly, and Sherlock had been the face of the whole operation.

“It wasn’t me, officer. I’m telling the truth!” yelled Sundman; while his wife stood off to the side, querying how long it would take to file for a divorce should he be found guilty. “My father was a police officer, you know,” she informed Donovan, “and I couldn’t stay with a convicted thief. It would break his heart.”

“No more than him finding out you’ve been cheating,” said Sherlock, unable to stop himself. Is phone buzzed in his pocket, and he checked it while Mrs Sundman gaped at him.

_Don’t do it, dear. JM x_

“Excuse me, Mr Holmes, but I am a faithful woman! I was brought up a…”

“Roman Catholic, I know. However, it is evident that you are no longer a strict Catholic; otherwise you wouldn’t be enquiring about divorce papers. Good day.” Donovan patted Mrs Sundman on the arm as Sherlock stalked away. “Ignore him, he’s a privileged git; doesn’t even know the earth goes round the sun…”

Sherlock sent a text back to Jim.

_Wouldn’t dream of it. SH x_

Of course, there were several other things about her that suggested she was unfaithful to her soon to be ex-husband, but Sherlock knew that there would be consequences, even for him, if he disobeyed Jim. He dialled the number he’d been given for Lady Beatrice. “Good evening, Lady Beatrice, we’ve found your necklace and the man responsible for it’s theft…”

Sherlock got back and found Jim instantly wrapped round his middle. “Sherly, you’re hoooome!” he sang. “I’ve got a proposition for you, dear.”

“I’m listening.” Sherlock attempted to remove his coat and scarf while Jim started talking. “You see our little stunt today got me thinking. Direct crime obviously isn’t your strong suit, but I could use your help, just every once in a while, with a cover up. You know; you could use your links with the police and ever so gently nudge them the way I want them to go.” Sherlock paused. “Like what we did today?”

“Exactly!” Jim beamed; apparently thrilled Sherlock was catching on so quickly. Sherlock stopped and considered for a moment. _I wouldn’t exactly be breaking the law,_ he reasoned. _Anyway, it’s just helping out my husband every once in a while. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?_

“Okay, Jim. I’ll help you out. Only when it’s really necessary though.” Jim grinned even wider. “Yay! What should we have for dinner? I’m feeling the Chinese takeaway vibe if I'm honest…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boy Sherly's taking his first steps into a life of crime! What do we think: will he be a better criminal than consulting detective?


	20. Big Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim get another visit from Mycroft, and Jim reveals he's going back to New York.

Jim lay on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for Moran to text back. The sniper never kept him waiting for long; he still had enough fear in him to text back almost immediately.

_Job has been completed. How’s your task going? SM._ Jim’s brow creased. It was unlike the sniper to say anything other than what was necessary. Oh well. It wouldn’t hurt to share information with his second in command, and who knew? Maybe he might have some helpful suggestions.

_Small steps, but steps none the less. Yesterday he agreed to use his connections with the police to help. Still refuses to commit direct crime, but like I said… baby steps. JM_

_Just gradually up the amount of jobs you use him for, and he’ll be as bad as you in no time. SM_

_Yes, thank you, Sebastian, I hadn’t thought of that… Don’t you have innocent civilians to be shooting? JM_

_Sorry, boss. SM_

That was better. Honestly, no one had any respect for the chain of command anymore, and Jim himself had lost a few ‘good soldiers’ because of it. Everyone wanted glory, fame, money; they wanted their names to be spoken in hushed whispers by even the bravest of men, like Jim’s was. What they didn’t realise, however, is that you don’t get to be where Jim was by just killing your way to the top. No. You needed people skills, connections, and the ability to do more damage with a few words than you could ever do with a bullet. Jim knew how people’s brains worked, what made people tick, and where their weaknesses lay. That’s how he’d gotten where he was today.

He’d better delete the texts from his phone though. Sherlock had a habit of going through Jim’s phone to see what he wanted for his birthday or Christmas, and he didn’t think it’d help Sherlock’s progress to see he was being talked about as if he were a disobedient child.

_Mycroft’s invited himself over. Prepare yourself. SH xx_

_Two kisses? Must be serious. JM xx_

_You have no idea. SH xx_ Jim laughed. Sherlock had still been in bed, recovering from a night of drugs last time Mycroft had visited. Jim doubted he was even aware of his brother’s previous visit. He grinned to himself as he got up and found the knife sharpener from the kitchen, bringing it and all the knives to his chair. _May as well fuck with big brother. Have a little fun._

The front door slammed, and Jim started sharpening his knives. Mycroft was the first Holmes in the room, and shock crossed his face at the sight of Jim sat in his chair, sharpening knives so carefully they may as well have been made of glass, but it was replaced with mild irritation. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked. “Well, I thought Sherly might like to try knife play later. What do you think, dear?” he called out to Sherlock, who was sulking in the corner. “Sounds lovely, sweetie.” Jim put the knife down, and patted his knee. Sherlock fell into it, relaxing into Jim. “What’s wrong, Sherlock? Is the bad man making you sad?” Sherlock shook his head. “No, it’s the good ones that are the problem.” Mycroft cleared his throat, as if to remind them that, actually, he was still there. Jim ignored him. “It’s alright, honey. Jim’ll fix it.” Sherlock snuggled his face into Jim’s shoulder, and Jim stuck his tongue out at Mycroft. “When you two have quite finished.”

Sherlock pulled his face out of Jim’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mycroft, for acting normally with my partner.”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, I did actually want to talk to both of you about something. The media have seen you two together, and they don’t like it. As much as you don’t want to hear it, Sherlock, you do have certain features which society deems attractive, and the public doesn’t want to see you out and about with another man.” Sherlock sat up straighter. “What are you saying, Mycroft?”

“I want you two to spend less time together in the public eye.” Jim laughed. “Oh honey, that’s fucking rich! You and Scotland Yard are joined at the hip.”

“Whilst _Greg_ and I do spend a lot of time together, neither of us are media superstars. No one cares about us.”

“Got one thing right,” muttered Jim. Sherlock giggled. Mycroft sighed. “I see you’re going to behave like children, leaving me one option.”

“Leaving us alone?”

“To control the press coverage of the two of you.” Jim rolled his eyes. “You really think I give one about the press? Now if that’s all, I’d like to spend some quality time with your little brother.” Mycroft sighed once more, and left the apartment.

Jim and Sherlock stayed sat in Jim’s chair, cuddling like kids. “Sherlock?”

“Mhm?”

“I’m going to be going away to New York again tomorrow. Are you going to be alright on your own?”

“Is there anyone out to kill you?”

“Always.” Sherlock looked into Jim’s eyes, and saw real concern. “I’ll be fine, honestly. I probably won’t leave the apartment, and I’ll get John and Mary and your sister to keep me company.” Jim nodded. “Okay, Sherlock. I’ll only be gone a few days, and I’ll get you something nice this time. I was in a little bit of a rush to get back last time.” Sherlock nodded.

They both got up early the next morning, and Sherlock waved Jim off as he got into the cab. As he went back inside, the cab turned a corner, and Sherlock was totally unaware that in the back, Jim was being gagged and knocked unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! Look out Jim! I hope he'll be okay... I wonder how Sherlock will react to this when he finds out?


	21. The Toughest Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim wakes up in a warehouse with someone who he wishes he could say it was a surprise to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm... there is a major character death in this chapter. I'm really sorry.

Jim woke up in an old drafty warehouse, and all he could do was laugh. _How horribly cliché._ “What country am I in?” he asked one of the thugs at his side. All he got as a response was a funny look. He tried again. “Parlez-vous anglais? ¿Hablas íngles?”

“Yes, Dr Moriarty, they speak English. They are confused as to your reaction to waking up in a warehouse.” Jim shrugged as best he could. “Horribly cliché, don’t you think? At least I’m creative.”

“Yes, I believe you’re currently holding my brother hostage in his own home.” Mycroft appeared from the shadows, and Jim would have loved to say he was surprised. “Very creative, Jim. Making him think you actually love him.”

“Changing tactics, are we? Last time you were trying to convince me he didn’t love me, and let me tell you, it very nearly worked.” Mycroft chuckled. “I’ve brought you here to discuss a plan of action with you.”

“Gee Mycroft; they invented these wonderful things a few years back, called telephones.”

“Witty. Anyway, here’s what’s going to happen: you are going to go home in a few days, and tell my brother that you’ve found a new man in New York, and you two are going to divorce. He will hate you, and be free to move on with his life, still on the correct side of the law.”

“What makes you think I’m going to do that? And where the hell’s my wedding ring?” There was a strange empty feeling on his left ring finger. “You lost it whilst partaking in various activities with your new lover,” said Mycroft, pulling up a chair just opposite Jim. “It’s time to let him go, Moriarty.”

“This fictional lover? Okay, sorry honey, but I’m married. There see,” Jim turned to Mycroft. “You’ve made him cry.” Mycroft didn’t look even the slightest bit amused. “I’m going to give you your phone, and you are going to call Sherlock and tell him the bad news.”

“What, that his brother’s gone insane?” Mycroft pulled out Jim’s phone from his pocket. “Eww, I don’t want to touch anything that’s been in that pocket,” said Jim, deciding he may as well piss Mycroft off while he was here. “Fine. What’s the passcode?”

“It’s a thumbprint.” Mycroft nodded at his thugs, and they wrenched Jim’s bound hands over his head, breaking his shoulders in the process. “Holy mother of Christ!” he yelled as Mycroft pressed his thumb down.

Mycroft tapped on the screen a couple of times, and then a dialling tone sounded. It didn’t take Sherlock long to answer. “Jim? I thought you were on a plane?”

“No, Sherly, the flight ended a couple of hours ago.”

“Oh, alright then. What’s up?” Jim saw Mycroft nodding at him. “This is kind of hard to say, but I’m leaving you.”

“What?”

“Mycroft’sgotmeuseyourphonecomequick!” the call was cut off, and Mycroft glared at him. “Not very smart my dear. Now you’re going to die in the most painful way possible, and I must make myself scarce. Blood really isn’t my thing.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Sherlock’s voice sounded out of the shadows. “That was surprisingly quick, Sherlock,” said Mycroft, genuine surprise in his tone. “I have a tracker in Jim’s phone, one that he presumably knew about considering his words on the phone. When Jim got into the taxi, I noticed it turned a corner. I thought it strange, that it would turn there, but I presumed the taxi driver had found a different route to the airport. I used the tracker on Jim’s phone to track the route the driver took, and lo and behold, it lead me straight here. Are you alright, Jim dear?”

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you Sherlock.”

“Really? I heard a shout while I was hiding.”

“Ah, yes, these two lovely gentlemen broke my shoulders.” Mycroft had had enough. “Stop it, both of you! This relationship cannot work! You can’t be together. I see now that you won’t split up on your own, so…” he pulled something out of his pocket, and Sherlock was quick to draw his gun.

It was a standoff. Mycroft had his gun pointed at Jim’s head; Sherlock had his pointed at his brother. “I don’t want to kill you, Mycroft. You’re my brother.”

“And he’s an international terrorist. Let me help you, Sherlock.” Jim stayed silent. He knew Sherlock would make the right decision for himself. “Mycroft, I don’t care that he’s killed people. You have too, remember? Everyone in this room has killed at least one person.”

“And that’s because of him! You’d never have done it if it hadn’t been for him.” Sherlock shrugged. “You’re right. I also would never have gotten married, and be forever hovering on the edge of John Watson’s world and as wonderful as that may be, it can never compare with what I’ve experienced with this man. Put the gun down, I’m sure that we can reach some kind of accord.”

Sherlock watched the next few moments in slow motion. Mycroft dropped his gun, and hope surged in the detective’s stomach, but then a knife was pulled, and Sherlock watched his own finger pull on the trigger of his gun, bullet hitting his brother right between the ribs. Mycroft plunged the knife into Jim’s shoulder, aim thrown off by the bullet tearing through his skin.

Time restarted at a normal pace again, and Mycroft fell to the floor. The two thugs instantly rushed to his side, and Sherlock ran to Jim, untying his binds, trying desperately to ignore the gasps and moans of pain coming from his lover. “Come on Jim, we’ve got to get out of here!” Jim nodded, and ran after Sherlock, fuelled by pain.

They ran out of the warehouse and down towards the river, running along the banks until they found a deserted alleyway. There Jim flopped to the floor as Sherlock called Molly.

“Molly? I need your help.”

“Where are you?” Sherlock glanced around. “You know the Chinese restaurant by the river, opposite the watch shop?”

“I’ll be right there.” Sherlock hung up and rushed back to Jim. “Come on, Jim. Don’t fall asleep. Molly’s coming, and she’ll make it better.” Jim couldn’t help but grin as he saw the look of desperation in his husband’s eyes. “I’m not going to die, Sherlock. Worst case scenario I end up with no arm, which could very well happen if your brother hadn’t cleaned this knife.” He gestured to the knife, still in his shoulder. “Mycroft…” breathed Sherlock. In his adrenaline, he’d forgotten all about him.

_I’ve just killed my own brother. Shot him dead in cold blood._ “Sherly…” warned Jim. “I’ve killed him,” whispered Sherlock. “He’s dead because of me.” He noticed his breathing rate increasing, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Jim tried his best to put his arm round his husband, but couldn’t. instead, he settled for nuzzling him with the top of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still sorry. As soon as I started this scene, I knew someone was going to die, and people do all sorts of things to protect the ones they love.  
> Take comfort in the fact that it was a very hard decision for Sherlock to make.


	22. Damaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets a nasty shock.

Molly found them in the alleyway; Sherlock hyperventilating and Jim gasping in pain. She gave Sherlock a paper bag to breathe in, and lay Jim down across the back of her car. She drove them to the hospital, and found Jim his own room which Sherlock wasn’t allowed in. “You’re distracting,” she said. Sherlock tried to protest but Molly physically pushed him out and sat him down on a chair. “Call John,” she said.

Sherlock did as he was told, and John was by his side within the hour.  Jim had been whisked off to surgery, and John wrapped Sherlock in his arms as he howled, not caring about the funny looks he was getting. “This is all my fault,” he howled into John’s shoulder. John shushed him. “It’s alright, Sherlock, I know. I’ve seen this kind of thing before in Afghanistan. It’s best to let it all out, trust me.”

“But he was my brother, John. And I killed him. What will I tell mummy? Or Greg?” John just patted him on the back, and eventually realised Sherlock had cried himself to sleep. He took the opportunity to text Mary.

_Sherlock’s in shock. Jim’s gone into surgery. Tell Jessica not to worry; it’s just his shoulder. Mycroft’s dead. JW xx_

_Oh dear… Do I want to know what happened, or not? Text me how Jim’s surgery goes when you know. MW xx_

It was about an hour after Sherlock had fallen asleep that Jim was being wheeled back from the theatre, still under the effects of anaesthetic. “How is he, Molly?” asked John. Molly’s face looked serious. “The knife was incredibly dirty, and the wound was messy. I’m afraid Jim’s lost his arm.” John gasped, before covering his mouth and checking to see Sherlock was still asleep. “I see. I’ll make sure to break the news gently to Sherlock.” Molly nodded. “Thanks John. You’ve been a real friend to Sherlock, and I’m sure he appreciates it, even if he doesn’t say so.” John smiled. “You get used to reading him after living with him for so many years. Thanks for all your help too. I’ll let you get back to it.” He held open the door, and then sent a text to Mary.

_Jim’s lost his arm. Tell Jessica gently. JW xx_

“Jim?” John looked round as Sherlock blearily opened his eyes. “John, is Jim okay?” John sighed. This part was always the hardest. “Sherlock, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. Due to a couple of complications during surgery… Jim’s lost his arm.” Sherlock blanched. “I’m going in there and seeing him.” John nodded. “I’ll let you have some privacy.”

Sherlock wanted to cry as he walked in to Jim’s room. His husband lay on his back, covered up to his neck in white hospital sheets. He looked so empty, so washed out, and his hair was a mess. He knew Jim would rather die than be seen so vulnerable. He sat down in the chair by the side of the bed, but decided that he’d rather be on the bed, next to Jim. He cuddled up by his side, tears running down the side of his face. “I’m so sorry, Jim,” he whispered, before falling back to sleep.

*****

Jim woke up in the morning, feeling Sherlock’s warmth by his side. He smiled and reached for his phone on the bedside table, and realised… _I’m not at home._

He sat bolt upright in bed, panicking. _Oh good God, I’m in a hospital. Why am I in hospital?_ He saw the outline of a doctor through the glass panel of the door, and Molly came through. “Good morning, Jim. How are you feeling?”

“Awful. I don’t know where I am, or why I’m in hospital.” Molly sat down on the chair, smiling at Sherlock’s still sleeping form. “What can you remember from yesterday, Jim?” Jim tried as hard as he could to remember the events of the previous day. “Well, Sherlock and I got up early, to see me off to the airport, then I was kidnapped, and Mycroft was there, and that’s about it.” Molly nodded. “Well, you were kidnapped, and you were taken to a warehouse where Mycroft was found dead late last night. You and Sherlock escaped, and Sherlock called me for help. I brought you two here, and while Sherlock is fine, you on the other hand…” Molly swallowed, wondering how she should break the news. “You lost an arm in surgery,” she blurted out. “No I didn’t,” said Jim. “I can still feel it.”

“Look under the covers, Jim.” Jim sat himself up and saw that indeed, where his left arm should have been, there was a short stump coming from his shoulder. Jim blanched as Sherlock woke up. “What’s happening?” he asked sleepily. Then he caught sight of Jim’s arm (or lack thereof). “Oh my God, Jim. I’m so sorry, this is all my fault,” he said, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Jim put his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Sherly. There were probably some complications in surgery; isn’t that right, Molly?”

“Oh yes,” piped up Molly. “This has nothing to do with you, Sherlock. I mean, it’s to do with you because you two are married, but other than that… it’s not your fault, Sherlock. Jim, your sister is outside, along with John and Mary. Do you want to see them, or not?” Jim nodded. Molly opened the door to reveal Jessica stood holding baby Rose, who could now walk quite well, and John and Mary stood holding hands. “Oh, Jim!” cried Jessica, running over with Rose. “Do I want to know what happened?”

After a short stay at the hospital, Jim was allowed home. He’d decided against a prosthetic; he didn’t like the idea of a piece of plastic imitating his arm. “Jim, I have a favour to ask,” said Sherlock after helping Jim into a polo shirt. It was still weird to see him wearing anything as ordinary as a polo shirt, even after all this time together. “What’s up?”

“Well, I feel like I should go and see my mother; just to see how she’s coping with the loss.” Jim nodded. He’d noticed some changes in Sherlock recently which he’d attributed to grief; the asshole was Sherlock’s brother after all. Maybe a good period of proper mourning would do Sherlock good, allow him to carry on with life as normal. “We’ll go tomorrow, okay?” Sherlock nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins a new era in Jim's life...


	23. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim head over to Sherlock's parents' house, and on their way back, decide to call in on Lestrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually close to tears writing this chapter, and that doesn't happen often... So I'm going to put a warning on it. I can't really give you a specific warning without spoiling it, but it's really quite sad, and the issue in hand can be quite sensitive for some people (I know it is for me).

Sherlock knocked on the door of his parent’s house, and he had to wait a little longer than usual to be let in. _Of course. Mummy will be checking her reflection in the mirror in the hallway, making sure she still looks presentable. Pretending everything’s normal._

The door swung open, and Sherlock’s mother stood, wrapped up in a big cardigan making her look even smaller. “Oh, Sherlock, you’ve heard the news.” Sherlock nodded, and his mother ushered them in, not wanting there to be a scene on the doorstep. As they went in, Sherlock did something completely out of character; he hugged his mother. This was too much for her, and she just crumbled. “No parent should outlive their own child,” she sobbed. “Now we have to attend our baby boy’s funeral.” Jim looked around for Mr Holmes, but he wasn’t sat in his usual chair. He wandered through the house, looking for Sherlock’s father. He found him in the kitchen, baking. “Oh, Jim. I wondered who was knocking on the door at this hour.”

“May I?” asked Jim, gesturing to a plate of biscuits. “Of course. You know, got to keep myself busy. No good sitting down and…” he trailed off. Jim nodded, understanding. Mr Holmes shook himself. “So, Jim, how’ve you been… oh my god where’s your arm?” he ran round behind Jim, checking to see he wasn’t hiding it behind his back. Jim flushed a deep shade of red. “Well, sir, I was there when your son died, and the murderer had a go at me with a knife. It was messy, and the knife was dirty, and there were a few complications during surgery, which ultimately ended up in me losing my arm.” Mr Holmes nodded. “I had a friend who was in the Navy. Lost his arm in a battle.” He went back to mixing his ingredients, a little more vigorously than before. Jim was afraid he’d upset the man. “I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he tried. “It’s fine, son, honestly. It’s me who should be sorry, pointing out your injury so insensitively.” Jim shrugged. “These biscuits are really good. Would you mind if Sherlock and I took some home?”

“What are we taking home?” asked Sherlock, appearing in the kitchen, trailed by his mother. “Some of your father’s biscuits. They’re really good.” Sherlock’s mother smiled. “See, I told you they were good. Come here Jim, let me give you a hug.” Jim did as he was told, mostly just because he loved Sherlock’s mother more than his own. “I get a one armed hug?” she asked, sounding hurt. Jim pulled back and waved his only hand in the air, and wriggled his stump. “One armed is all anyone gets anymore, I’m afraid.”

“Mercy be!” exclaimed Sherlock’s mother, looking horrified. “I’m so sorry!” Jim laughed, releasing the tension in the room. “It’s fine honestly. I’m still getting used to it myself. I didn’t want a prosthetic, either.” Sherlock’s mother nodded. “Yes, I understand why. Oh, just let me get my hands on the monster that did this to my boys. Are you alright, Sherlock? No fake legs?” Sherlock smiled slightly. “No, mummy, I’m fine. I was in a different part of London with Lestrade.”

“Oh, how’s he holding up? Tell you what, boys; take an extra tub of biscuits with you when you go; give them to Greg. It seems like a weak gesture, not one that really compensates this kind of loss, but still…” they nodded.

They only spent a few hours at Sherlock’s parents’, after which they decided to call round to Greg’s, to deliver the biscuits and make sure he was alright. When they arrived, however, the door was locked. Sherlock could see a faint light on in the room next to the one with the window, and Jim picked the lock so they could get in. “Lestrade?” called out Sherlock. “It’s Sherlock and Jim. We picked your lock; sorry about that. We came to see how you were doing, and we brought biscuits.” There was no answer. _Must be asleep_ thought Sherlock. _Asleep with headphones on._

“Wait,” said Jim, as Sherlock put his hand on the door into the lit up room. “Let me go first.” He had a horrible inkling as to why Greg might not be answering. He cautiously pushed open the door, and his worst fears were confirmed. “Don’t come in!” he called out to Sherlock.

Greg’s body swung from a ceiling fan, dangled by a roughly tied rope. “Sherlock, you there?”

“Yes?”

“I want you to call Molly.” Sherlock poked his head round the door before Jim could tell him not to. He took in his friend’s lifeless form, and silently nodded. He left the room again, not wanting to stay there. He dealt with corpses all the time, but it was different this time… too close to home. “Molly? You may want to send someone else, but we need someone at Greg’s flat.” He hung up before he had to explain what had happened. He dialled Donovan’s number on impulse. “Donovan? It’s Sherlock.”

“I gathered that much. What do you want?” her voice sounded ever unfriendly on the other end of the line. “Donovan, it’s Lestrade. Jim and I came over to check up on him, after the death of my brother, and-”

“Wait, your brother’s dead?”

“Yes, keep up,” Sherlock sighed. “Anyway, we came over to his apartment, and he’s committed suicide.” Sherlock couldn’t help the crack in his voice, and Donovan’s tone softened slightly. “I’ll be right over.” She hung up. “Jim?” he called out. “Yes, Sherlock?” Jim put his head round the door. “I want to go home.” Jim nodded. “Just wait until Molly comes, dear, and then we’ll leave.” He stepped through the door way to give Sherlock a hug. “I know it’s hard,” he muttered. Sherlock nodded. Just at that moment, Molly knocked on the door. “It’s open,” shouted Jim, not wanting to tear away from his and Sherlock’s hug. Molly came in cautiously. “He’s just through there. Do you mind if Sherlock and I go? Donovan’s on her way.” Molly nodded, and Jim grabbed Sherlock’s hand. “Let’s go home. We’ll put on a Disney movie, and have Chinese take away, and cuddle, okay?” Sherlock nodded. He’d been shocked into silence, and even if he could talk, he didn’t feel like there was anything to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg's suicide is no light hearted matter. I personally have never cut or even had so much as a thought on the matter cross my mind, but I have friends who have been so very, very close to ending it all. Remember, self harm or suicide is never the answer, just pick up the phone and call someone. They'll be happy to listen,promise. If the worst comes to the worst, post a comment on here, and I'll do my damn best to make you feel better :)


	24. New beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock struggles to get his life back on track. In an attempt at normalcy, he heads on down to Scotland Yard.

Jim was getting concerned. Sherlock hadn’t said a word since they’d found Greg, not a sound for a week and a half. Jim knew it was a problem in his head, rather than a sore throat, and he was seriously starting to consider asking John for his therapist’s number. He sighed as he buttered some toast that he knew Sherlock would leave, placing it on a plate and bringing it through to the bedroom, where he deposited it on the nightstand and went to leave. “Stay.” Jim stopped in his tracks, certain his ears were playing tricks on him. “What was that, Sherly?”

“Stay,” the voice came again, sounding less authoritative this time. More like a child. Jim sank down on the bed next to the bundle of duvet that was Sherlock. “You want me to feed you toast?”

“I’m not a child, Jim. I can feed myself. Pass me the plate.” Jim did as he was told, glad Sherlock was sounding like his old self again. He’d become mopey and distant, and Jim didn’t like it. He passed Sherlock the plate, and an arm came out of the duvet to retrieve it. “Nuh uh. You want the toast; you’re going to have to come out of the duvet.” Sherlock untangled himself from the covers with a sigh. “Fine. Give me the plate.” Jim did as he was told. “Glad to hear you’ve regained your voice.”

“Never lost it,” said Sherlock through a mouthful of toast. “I just needed a little time to think. I’m going to work today, just so I can see what’s what down at the Yard.” Jim nodded. _Really, I’d be okay with you going down to the pub; just as long as you get some fresh air and leave the apartment for a while._ “Want me to come with you?” Sherlock shook his head. “No thanks. I’ll be alright.” Sherlock finished his toast, and got dressed for the first time in what felt like forever.

It was almost strange to be vertical again, after so long spent lying in bed. he wrapped his scarf around his neck, and set out into the streets. He arrived at the police station in no time, swanning in like he owned the place, just like he did before any of this started. He burst into Donovan’s office, interrupting her morning coffee. “Good morning, Donovan. I presume you’re the one running the show now, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Do you have any cases for me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Look in that filing cabinet over there, take your pick and get out.” Sherlock helped himself to an armful of files from the cabinet, and sat down on the floor outside Donovan’s office. He spent a happy hour sifting through them, examining case details and deciding which were worth his time. The rest he threw across the hallway, creating a separate pile which a fat man with a mug of coffee almost tripped over. “I see your back off your honeymoon then,” he tried to joke. Sherlock ignored him.

There were a couple of interesting ones, and sat with the case files, a notebook and a pen and had a lovely time solving them. He handed them back to Donovan. “That’s it?” she asked. “You took half a filing cabinet, and you solve three?” she looked around. “Where are the rest of them?”

“I left them in the hall.” Donovan looked irritated. “Sherlock, you can’t leave confidential documents lying about in a hallway. They’re a tripping hazard and some junior officer will come along and put his nose in above his paygrade.”

“And that’s where the police are going wrong,” protested Sherlock. “You need every available brain on the case. If your senior officers can’t solve it, then don’t wait for one of you lackeys to get promoted; make it available to all!”

“Get out,” said Donovan; sitting at a desk that was too big for her, paperwork stacked high in her in tray. Sherlock remained where he was. “I said, get out. I can’t deal with you right now.” Sherlock left the office, irritated. Donovan was clearly the wrong choice for the promotion. She couldn’t handle the pressure of being at the top of the chain, the stress of it being her neck on the line when everything went wrong… in his anger, Sherlock picked up the phone. “Jim, give me a case.”


	25. Chapter 25

Jim Moriarty, criminal extraordinaire, couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’m sorry, dear, what was that?” there was a frustrated sigh on the other end of the line. “Look, I’m coming home, and you’d better be there when I get back.” Jim grinned to himself at how frustrated Sherlock sounded. “Alright, Sherly. I’ll be right here, waiting for you.” The phone made a clicking sound, indicating Sherlock had hung up.  
Jim had known this would happen. They’d promote Donovan, because she’d been shadowing Lestrade for so many years. Everyone knew Sherlock and Donovan hated each other, and adding the stress of running Scotland Yard into the mix ensured that it would stay this way. Donovan would make life exceedingly difficult for Sherlock, and every officer there would follow her example. Sherlock would have no choice but to do Jim’s work to stave off the boredom.   
The front door slammed shut, indicating Jim’s very pissed off husband was home. “Jim?” came the shout. “I’m right up here, darling.” Sherlock stomped up the stairs, knowing he was being immature, but not particularly caring.   
He threw open the door, smashing it against the wall. Jim lounged on the sofa, holding a glass of wine out. “Here, drink this. It’ll make things better.” Sherlock shook his head. “You know I don’t drink.” He flopped down on the sofa, putting his head in Jim’s lap like he hadn’t in a long time. “Rough day, sweetie?” Sherlock huffed. “It’s that stupid Donovan woman. She hates me for no reason, and now she’s refusing to let me help. If she won’t let me help, no one else will. They’re like sheep, and they’ll never get anywhere without a shepherd.” Jim had to laugh. “Listen to you, sounding like a GCSE literature essay.” He ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, hoping to brush the stress away. “I need to hit something,” muttered Sherlock. “Hit me, and you will have all hell to pay,” warned Jim. He leaned down close to Sherlock’s face, and gently brushed his lips over the detective’s, a faint minty breath passing between them. “What kind of case do you want?” he asked. Sherlock’s eyes glittered with something new that Jim had never seen before. Something like… evil. “A good old fashioned murder would do nicely, as long as I don’t have to pull the trigger, so to speak.” Jim grinned, his eyes mirroring Sherlock’s. “You can have this one that I’ve been stuck on for a couple of weeks now. Let me get it from my file.”  
“A file? How painfully ordinary,” teased Sherlock. “Not all of us have a mind palace, Sherlock. Anyway, mine would be more like a mental asylum than a palace, there’s so much going on up there.” Jim hopped off the sofa, rifling through a cupboard Sherlock never even knew they had, and pulled out a ring binder, complete with colour coded dividers and stickers on the corner of pages. Sherlock had to say he was slightly disappointed. Of all the ways he’d ever expected an evil genius to operate, this wasn’t it. Jim seemed to catch on his disappointment. “Sorry to be boring, but it is the easiest way to organise something so complex. You know what the brilliant part is? After I’m done with each case, I can burn it, and there’s no evidence against me. Hell, I can eat the paper if I’m really in a scrape.”   
He pulled out a piece of paper from the blue section that had an orange sticker in the corner. “Blue means murder, orange means medium priority.” Sherlock nodded. He took the sheet of paper and examined the details of it. Some mildly famous politician or other needed to be gotten rid of, and Jim had scrawled at the bottom that the client should probably be disposed of, if convenient. “So what’s this man’s physical health like?”  
“He’s five nine, perfect BMI, goes running every morning at six. Very popular in his constituency, because of all the community work he does.”  
“Sounds like a nice guy. What does he do under the table?” Jim shrugged. “Nothing my people have been able to pick up. He’s through and through a nice man.”  
“So what’s he done to put himself on your hit list?” Jim shrugged. “Ours not to question why…”  
“…Ours but to do and die,” finished Sherlock. “Do we shall, die we shall not. I have thought of a plan that gets rid of both men in a neat package. Pass me a pen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points for the bright cookies who guessed which poem I paraphrased at the end of the chapter! A huge virtual hug for those who even know who it's by!  
> Sherlock's bad side is being dragged out to play...


	26. Welcome to the dark side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Basically a filler smut chapter.

Sherlock and Jim sat watching the news with a big bowl of popcorn. “ _Now for the latest developments on today’s top story: Graham Parton has been apprehended on suspicion of the manslaughter of MP Michael Martin. Parton is a local school teacher in the constituency of Martin, and it is thought that he accidentally ran over the MP during the fog early Tuesday morning.”_ Jim giggled. “Nice idea to frame him. That way, the police have someone to blame so they won’t come looking too hard.” Sherlock nodded. “I know how the police function. They get their man, and they close the case, not stopping to think that he might not actually be their man. They want the pay rise, and nothing else.” Jim grinned to himself. _Really, Sherlock was so cynical when he wanted to be._ “Come here,” he said, dragging Sherlock’s curls down into an open mouthed kiss. The detective couldn’t resist flicking his tongue a little, challenging Jim’s for dominance. “Ooh, naughty boy!” giggled Jim, dragging his tongue across the roof of Sherlock’s mouth causing the detective’s tongue to waver in its pursuit. “Don’t forget, Sherly,” hissed Jim, “that you’re still a baby criminal. You’ve staged one murder. I’ve staged millions. I will rule the world one day, and you will be sat by my feet as my pet. Imagine it, Sherlock,” Jim subtly trailed his hand towards Sherlock’s crotch area, “King Jim, all dressed up in the crown jewels, the world on its knees before him. And you, my dear, will be sat in my lap, straddling my knee, letting the king of the known world devour you.” The image in Jim’s mind was beautiful, and he hoped Sherlock was seeing a similar picture. _Judging by the ever stiffening bulge in his trousers, I’d say so._

As if to confirm Jim’s thoughts, Sherlock let out a little groan of contentment. Jim palmed Sherlock as he carried on. “I’d make you call me Your Highness, and you’d be there whenever I called for you.” Sherlock started wriggling a little bit on the sofa, and Jim chuckled. “I think you’re into this sub-dom thing, aren’t you?” Sherlock nodded, curls bouncing everywhere. Jim giggled and leaned in close. “Let’s try it, then. Off the sofa with you, and into the bedroom.” He gave Sherlock a little shove and pushed him off the sofa. Sherlock scrambled to his feet, and ran off to the bedroom, heart going a mile a minute. Jim took his sweet time following him, and there was a menacing expression on his face as he quietly clicked the bedroom door shut. He held out a rag to Sherlock.  “We don’t want to disturb Mrs Hudson,” he said. Sherlock simply stared at it. “Do I have to do it, or will you?” Sherlock didn’t answer and Jim took his silence as a cue for him to tie the rag around his husband’s mouth. “Mean to make the one-armed man do it,” he mock pouted. Sherlock was sure Jim could feel the hammering of his heart through his shirt, but he kept silent. Jim nodded in approval as he stepped back to admire his handiwork.

“Now, strip.” Sherlock tried to steady his shaking hands as he struggled with the buttons on his shirt, and Jim watched, looking like he wanted to eat Sherlock. Sherlock’s shirt fell to the floor, and he began work on his belt buckle. With great difficulty, he slid it open and was about to throw it to the floor when Jim stopped him. “Nu-uh. Give that to me, just in case you feel like misbehaving.” Sherlock ignored the parts of his mind that told him that it was a somewhat self-destructive action and handed over the belt. “Good boy. Carry on.”

Under Jim’s watchful eye, Sherlock eased himself out of his trousers, heart visibly thumping against his chest. “Stop.” Jim held out a hand when Sherlock had removed his socks, leaving the taller man in just his underwear. Sherlock paused, unsure of what he should do next, but unable to ask because of the gag round his mouth. “Are you helpless? Onto the bed, now.” Sherlock rushed onto the bed, lying on his back, pale blue eyes locking onto Jim’s chocolate ones. Jim sank onto the bed, positioning himself above Sherlock, hand by the side of Sherlock’s head. He brushed his hips against Sherlock’s, and Sherlock gasped at the added friction from the starched fabric of Jim’s trousers. “Shh, Sherlock. Or else Daddy will have to use the belt, okay?” Sherlock nodded as Jim leaned forwards, digging his teeth into Sherlock’s neck in a way that made Sherlock shout.

Jim looked up at the muffled shout. “Tsk, tsk, Sherlock. I said ‘Shh’.  Now I have to use the belt.” Jim shifted his weight from above Sherlock, grabbing the belt from where he’d put it on the bedside table. “Over my knee, now.” Sherlock lay across Jim’s knee, drinking in the feeling of Jim’s trousers against his bare flesh. He felt a cold thumb hook into his waistband, and he instinctively grabbed onto Jim’s knee to steady himself.

Once his pants were thrown to the floor, Jim shook out the belt. “Stay still,” he warned. “Or this will reeaally hurt.” Sherlock braced for the incoming strike, flinching when the belt swooshed through the air. _Smack._ He dug his fingers into Jim’s knee. “Two more,” said Jim conversationally. _Smack. Smack._

Sherlock was sure he wouldn’t be able to sit down for a couple of days. “Good boy,” cooed Jim, stroking Sherlock’s hair. “Help Daddy undress himself, you know how difficult he finds it nowadays.” Sherlock fell to his knees, fiddling with Jim’s belt buckle. He pulled out the belt as Jim finished undoing the buttons on his shirt. He pulled at the zipper, and wriggled Jim’s trousers down his legs. Jim stepped gracefully out of them, having already cast his shirt aside. “Fetch the lube, Sherly dear.” Sherlock did as he was told, fishing around in the drawer for the smallish bottle. He grasped it in his hand, and Jim pushed him down onto the bed, pinning Sherlock’s hands down with his forearm. He kissed Sherlock’s gagged mouth, finding the detective’s tongue behind the rough cloth.

Sherlock didn’t see him opening up the lube bottle above his head until Jim moved his arm. “Downside of only having one arm,” he growled. “Means I can’t surprise you anymore.”  Sherlock wriggled appreciatively, not wanting Jim to lapse into a bout of self-pity.

Jim snapped out of it. “Stop wriggling or I’ll have to use the belt again,” he warned. Sherlock stopped dead still. “Good boy,” crooned Jim. “Such a good little boy.” Sherlock flinched as the cold sensation began when Jim slipped in his first finger. “Still not used to it, hey?” Sherlock shook his head, curls bouncing everywhere. Jim added another finger, and sweat started plastering Sherlock’s curls to his forehead. Jim could feel Sherlock’s muscles tensing and relaxing around his fingers, and decided he wanted in _right now._ “Ready?” he asked Sherlock. Sherlock swallowed and nodded.

Jim lined himself up and pushed in. Sherlock’s moans were barely stifled through his gag. Jim picked up the pace quicker than he normally would, needing his release. Beneath him, Sherlock was practically crying through a mixture of pain and pleasure, not unnoticed by Jim. “You want me to stop?” he asked, slowing his pace considerably. Sherlock shook his head furiously. Jim laughed and picked it back up again, and not long afterwards the both came, staining the bed sheets and each other white.

They lay panting next to each other. “So,” asked Jim, catching his breath. “How d’ya like being bad?” Sherlock shrugged. “It’s alright, I suppose.”

“You’re going to have to learn to tolerate pain better,” teased Jim. Sherlock pouted. “I don’t intend on putting myself through any pain.”

“Oh honey, no one does, but it’s inevitable. With glory comes gore, with pride comes pain. Can’t have one without the other.”

“How poetic,” mused Sherlock. Jim giggled. “You know me, Sherly. What’s life without flair?” Jim rolled over on top of Sherlock. “Come here. Let me take one last look at you before we sleep.”

“Sentimental freak,” muttered Sherlock. “Well, one of us has to be,” replied Jim. He rested his head one Sherlock’s torso, and Sherlock could feel all the muscles in both their bodies relaxing until they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll be back on track with the plot soon!


	27. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock pays John a visit, and has a moral dilemma on his hands...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Stress really gets to me, and I've recently had to drop one of my subjects, which was incredibly stressful... idk personal I guess... school is hard, but Sherlock's life is a little harder

“Hey, Sherlock, I was wondering if you’d want to swing by later this evening.” Sherlock was on the phone to John as Jim made dinner. “Mary’s going to be out, and I thought that together we might be able to keep little Rose alive.” Sherlock snorted in a gesture that reminded Jim remarkably of himself. “Sure. What time should I be over?”

“About seven-ish? Is that okay?”

“I’ll be there at seven Bye.” Sherlock hung up the phone, not bothering to wait for John to say goodbye. “So, you’re heading off to John’s tonight?” Sherlock nodded. “Yeah. You’ll be here by yourself, but I don’t suppose that really matters, does it?”

“Don’t worry about it; I’ll have a party.”  Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You have been to one party in your life, and you weren’t even invited to it.” Jim gazed dreamily into the distance. “It was so boring, until I met a young gentleman on the balcony. Looked a little bit like you, you know. He was tall, and handsome, and so smart…” Sherlock smacked him in the face with a pillow. “Shut up; you’ll make us both sick.”

Sherlock knocked on John’s door later, coming face to face with a heavily made up Mary as the door opened. “Hello, Sherlock! Goodbye, Sherlock!” she said, rushing off down the path. Sherlock stared after her before stepping into the house. “Where’s Mary off to?” he asked John. “Dunno.”

“Where’s Rose?”

“In bed, obviously.” Sherlock sat down on the sofa, and John offered him a beer, which he declined. “Still don’t drink, huh?” Sherlock had a brief flashback to the last time he’d gotten drunk. It was the last day of his and Jim’s honeymoon, and after a heavy night of drinking, he’d woken up in a pool of his own vomit with neon paints on his face.

“No, not really,” he told John, smirking slightly at the memory. John sat down on the armchair opposite Sherlock with an open bottle of beer. “What’ve you bee up to lately? I hear Donovan’s in charge down at the Yard.” Sherlock nodded. “Shame. She’s such a moron, not even the police are deserving of that suffering.”

“Oh Sherlock, stop being such a drama queen. She’s not as brilliant as you, but she’s still pretty smart, and you two can still work together to do incredible things.”

They sat in silence. “John?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you ever miss the old days?”

“What so you mean, the old days?”

“You know, when it was me and you at 221B Baker Street, running round, solving crimes, outing criminals behind bars? You know, before you met Mary and I met Jim, and before little Rose came along?” John studied his face carefully. “I do sometimes miss the adrenaline of it; how I was constantly on edge, how neither of us knew what was going to happen from one day to the next, but then I look around at what I have now, and I realise; you don’t have to be a super detective to do good things. It starts right here in the home. By bringing up Rose properly, I’m doing more good than I could ever do by your side.”

“But you still want to be good, and do good things all the time?”

“Is that a trick question?” John put down his beer and stared Sherlock directly in the eyes. “Do you honestly never get tempted? Just to do one little bad thing?” persisted Sherlock. “Well, I get tempted to cheat on my diet, if that’s what you mean…” started John.

Sherlock put on his best acting face. “Knew it!” he proclaimed. John looked mortified. “Don’t tell Mary!” he begged. Sherlock laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Walking back home late that night (or rather, early the next morning), Sherlock was deep in thought. John was insistent that he wanted to do the right thing, all the time, and not a single bad thought ever crossed his mind. Did that make him a bad person?

_No. Sherlock Holmes is many things, but he is not a bad person. I have to start doing good things. Collaborating with Donovan, no matter what the cost._

_But I had so much fun, working alongside Jim. I don’t want that to end._

_It won’t end. I can still have quality time with my husband. If we managed before, we can manage now._

_I got such a kick from hearing about my crime on the news._

_My crime solving skills are often on the news too, and I get a kick out of solving crimes too._

_You could do both,_ chimed in a voice inside Sherlock’s head. Sherlock was taken aback at the new prospect. _Like a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde sort of thing. Solve crimes in the day time, commit them at night…_

Sherlock grinned to himself . What a perfect solution to his problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Sherlock has come to a conclusion! What do you think? Has he made the right decision?


	28. Gone Rogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock settles into his new life quickly. One day, he finds a file hidden containing the details of a rogue assassin, and Jim isn't around to tell him it's a bad idea...

Months passed. Sherlock settled into is new routine. As Donovan called him in less often as the time progressed, he turned his attention to more large scale crimes. He was sick of petty, meaningless jobs. He wanted to be out there, in the field as it were. He never had been one to sit back and let other people do his work for him.

He was searching through Jim’s files one day, searching for his next job. Jim often left cases for him to do, ones that he either couldn’t be bothered to do or couldn’t find a solution to. As he was searching, he came across a black ring-binder that looked in every way identical to all the others, but was shinier, and less full. Sherlock’s curiosity was piqued as he cautiously opened the cover.

_William Princeton… master assassin… gone rogue…_ Sherlock thumbed through the sheets of A4 paper, nodding as he read. This sounded like his kind of case. Finally, something major he could work on.

Why would Jim hide the file, though? It hadn’t been in the right place with all the other case files. _Who cares?_ Thought Sherlock. _Let’s get started, shall we?_

Jim was out at John’s house, looking after Rose while John and Mary were out. Mary had been invited on a girl’s holiday, so she was gone for a week, and John had gone out for a civilised drink. He’d promised to be back by ten, and it was bordering on eleven.

“Looks like Daddy’s a little late today,” Jim told Rose. She’d woken up to a parentless house, and was refusing to go back to sleep until Daddy came home. “I want Daddy,” she pouted. She was surprisingly literate, considering she still had a couple of weeks before her first birthday. “You know, I preferred it when you didn’t talk,” sighed Jim. “Uncle Jim, lift up!” demanded Rose. Jim sighed as he reached down and scooped her up. “Sing!” she commanded.  Jim didn’t notice John come in as he started to sing.

“There’s a cold wind a-calling, and the sky glows clear and bright, misty mountains sing and beckon, lead me out into the light, I will ride, I will fly! Chase the wind and touch the sky, I will fly! Chase the wind and touch the sky.” John started clapping and Jim jumped out of his skin. “Very good, Uncle Jim, but why isn’t little Rose in bed?”

“Because she’s a monster!” growled Jim, tickling Rose. “She said she wouldn’t go to bed until Daddy came home.”

“Well, Daddy’s home now, sweetie. Kiss Uncle Jim goodnight, then Daddy will take you upstairs and tuck you in, okay?” Rose gave Jim a little kiss on the cheek, and Jim put her down so she could toddle over to John and go to bed.

Jim sent a text to Sherlock.

_John’s just got back, I’ll be home in a few minutes. Do you want anything? JM xx_

An unusually brief text from Sherlock, but Jim shrugged it off. He must be busy with something. “Alright, John, I’ll be heading off home, okay?”

“Okay, tell Sherlock I said hi!”

“I will!”

A brief taxi ride later, Jim arrived home at 221B Baker Street. He unlocked the door and nearly ran up the stairs, eager to help Sherlock with whatever it is he was doing. However, when he entered the living room, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, and there was an open file on the table. Jim picked it up; curious to know which case Sherlock had chosen for himself.

_Oh no._

“Sherlock!” _Maybe he’s not left yet. Maybe there’s still hope…_

There was no answer. Jim picked up the phone, wasting no time dialling Moran’s number. “Seb, Sherlock’s gone. He’s gone after Princeton!” Seb swore on the other end of the line. “I’ll be at 221B in five minutes.”

“Make it two.” Jim hung up the phone, and called Sherlock. No response. Jim could feel himself hyperventilating. “The stupid bastard,” he muttered to himself. “It was separate for a goddamn reason!” he shouted, as if Sherlock was right in front of him, hanging his head in shame like a naughty schoolboy. Jim threw a mug that one of them had left on the coffee table, hearing it smash against the far wall. He heard footsteps running up the stairs. “Jim?” Seb poked his head round the door, narrowly dodging a scalpel that lodged itself in the wall two centimetres from Seb’s face. “Seb, how is he so fucking stupid?!”

“That doesn’t matter now. We’ve got to find him, pronto. Where does Princeton live?”

“Near Southbank; let’s go!” Jim grabbed his jacket and checked his pocket for his omnipresent gun before following Seb out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out, Sherly!


	29. The Final Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock runs off to face Princeton and Jim comes to get him. Sherlock's dark side is revealed, and we say our last goodbyes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it folks! The last one! I know it ends sort of suddenly, but the endings are always the worst part.

Sherlock knocked on the door of an ordinary looking house. This was the address that he’d found in Jim’s file, and Sherlock was disappointed but unsurprised to find it was just another building. A man with an eye patch opened the door. “Good evening, Mr Princeton. May I come in?”

“That depends,” replied the man at the door with a thick Scottish accent. “Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of Mr Moriarty’s, and I’ve come to make a deal with you.” Princeton laughed. “Have you now? I suppose you’d better come in then.” He stepped aside and let Sherlock in. He showed him through to a minimalist living room, and gestured at a sofa. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” Sherlock settled down on the sofa, admiring the minimalism of the room. Minimalism was underestimated these days, and he for one really appreciated…

Princeton jumped on him. “What the-?” a hand across his mouth cut him off. “I know exactly who you are, Mr Holmes. Remember Xavier, the nice gentleman who put you in a full body cast? He’s an acquaintance of mine. I didn’t know you and Mr Moriarty are married, however. That’s new.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Not married,” he lied through Princeton’s hand. The larger man laughed. “I may have a patch over on eye, lad, but I’m not fucking blind. Is that not a wedding ring on your finger?”

“I have a wife,” Sherlock lied. “Jim’s my boss.”

“Jim!” Princeton exclaimed.

“‘Jim’ does not let employees call him by his first name. You are a liar, Sherlock Holmes. I think I’m going to keep you. See what other information I can get out of you.”

“I know nothing,” said Sherlock quickly, beginning to curse himself for ever opening this psychopath’s file in the first place. Princeton grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels’ from the surface next to the sofa, and dabbed some round Sherlock’s neck and wrists. “Stop wriggling, you’ll only make it worse,” he almost sang, throwing Sherlock onto the tiled floor. “Can’t have you burning my sofas.”

He fished in his pocket for a lighter, and Sherlock scrambled away from the open flame. “Tell me what you know about Jim Moriarty.”

“I know nothing.”

“Loyal, huh?” he shrugged as he ignited the alcohol on Sherlock’s neck and wrists. Sherlock screamed as the alcohol burned, taking layer after layer of skin with it. “I’ll put you out if you tell me what you know about Jim Moriarty.”

“Nothing! I know nothing!” screamed Sherlock. “Let’s start with an address, shall we?” Princeton was almost conversational, seemingly deaf to Sherlock’s blood-curdling yells. “I don’t know!” howled Sherlock. The fire had spread to his clothes, and rolling about wasn’t doing a lot.

Relief came, a wave of cold water washing over him. “Those look nasty,” commented Princeton, stood over Sherlock with a bucket. “I’ve got some cream for that, if you want it. All it takes is a location.”

*****

Moran had to physically pin Jim to the wall as they stood outside Princeton’s address, Sherlock’s screams echoing through the night. “Let me at him,” growled Jim. “I swear to God, that bastard will suffer for what he’s doing.”

“Not now, Jim. Wait ‘til Sherlock’s not on fire.” Moran was in mission mode, thinking strategically and planning in advance. “We’ll go in through a back window, into the kitchen.”

Jim followed Moran to the garden, and pushed him aside before he could kick through a window. “Finesse, Seb. Have you learnt nothing all these years?”

The entered silently through the window, sliding it silently upward and climbing through a gap that was a tight squeeze for both men. Jim couldn’t help but be reminded of his first burglary; through Mrs Thompson’s back window, dodging the sleeping Rottweiler, stealing her collection of valuable jewellery…

He snapped himself back to reality as Seb motioned for him to advance through to the dining room. They waited, silent and motionless until they heard Princeton’s voice from the other side of the door. “Please excuse me, Mr Holmes. I just need something from the kitchen.”

Princeton opened the door and came face to chest with Moran. He didn’t have time to react before Moran swung his leg up and delivered a swift kick to the groin.

“Sebastian Moran,” he said, gasping with pain. “I haven’t seen you in years! How are you?”

“Less chit-chat, please; I want to minimise the time I spend in this dump.” Princeton glanced behind Moran, and saw Jim Moriarty, dressed head to toe in Westwood, eyes black, sparkling with the fury that lay beneath them.

“Jim Moriarty,” he breathed. “Funny; I always pictured you with two arms. And I never thought you were an Irishman. Funny old world.”

“Funny,” replied Jim, cold as ice. “I always pictured you with a little class, especially with a name like Princeton.” Princeton shrugged. “Southbank is the new Mayfair, or so I’ve heard. Anyway, I’ve found a little pet of yours. Very loyal; say he knows nothing.”

“I lied,” spat Sherlock, on his feet again. He was tired of always being victim, and was about ready to kill someone. “I lied a lot. Jim Moriarty is my husband, and we live at 221B Baker Street.” He ignored the searing pain in his neck and wrists as he held up the lighter and bottle of Jack Daniels. “I believe these are yours.”

Jim stared in part horror, part pride as Sherlock smashed the bottle over the Scotsman’s head, and ignited the lighter. Both he and Moran could only stare as Sherlock set Princeton on fire, smirking as the man burst into flame. “Let’s go,” he said, ignoring the man’s screams. He calmly took Jim’s hand and led him through to the dining room, waiting until Moran had come through the door before propping it closed with a chair.

“My, my, my, Sherly. What a dark little heart you have,” commented Jim. “The man set me on fire; he deserves everything he gets.” Sherlock grinned slightly, in a way that turned Jim on more than he’d care to admit. “Anyway, I know you would have done the same, had the situations been reversed.” Jim held his hands up. “Guilty as charged.”

Morn cleared his throat. “I don’t want to disturb anything here, but you know, it might be best if we’re not caught on the crime scene?” he raised his eyebrow, only to put it swiftly back down as Jim glared at him. “You know, you’ve become far too cheeky recently. I might have to dock your pay…”

“Sorry, boss.”

“As cheeky as you may be, you are right. Come on, Sherly, we’re going home to get those burns treated. Moran, I suggest you make yourself scarce and come up with a watertight alibi. I don’t want my best man in jail.”

“Yes boss.”

*****

Jim and Sherlock wandered off into the night, holding hands like any lovesick couple. “Jim?”

“Yes Sherlock?”

“This is going to be the start of a new era,” said Sherlock, icy blue eyes staring down into Jim’s. “Let’s go somewhere new, somewhere exciting. Let’s go somewhere and do something big. Let’s be exciting.” Jim grinned up at Sherlock. “I knew it,” he sang softly under his breath. “I knew you’d come around. You took long enough, but you did, just as I thought.” They stopped walking, and stood hand in hand by the river, the orange glow of streetlights reflecting off the calm water, the din of traffic a distant murmur. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

Their lips met, brushing softly against each other.

“I love you too, Jim Moriarty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sherlock will live happily ever after, although the same can't be said for everyone else, not with two evil geniuses about...  
> Thank you so much for the support; all the kudos and comments mean so much to me. If you have any other fic ideas, go ahead and comment them! I'll happily write anything just to keep myself out of trouble!!  
> Thanks again for all the support!  
> Au revoir, amigos!


End file.
